Harry Potter and the Year of Mysteries
by frogfoot24
Summary: Another year, another DADA professor but what is she hiding. Snape's meltdown in OOP and Voldemort's return mean there are some things that everyone must adjust too. Includes flashes from Snape's childhood. Doesn't follow cannon after Half Blood Prince.
1. Default Chapter

**Chapter 1 – Memories that Burn**

Dumbledore looked at the aggravated young man before him, wishing there was some way to calm him. "Severus, I can't have you overstepping the boundaries like that," He admonished gently. "What if the jar had _actually hit_ Harry?"

"It didn't though _did_ it?" The young man hissed.

Dumbledore watched as the Potions Master paced the room like a caged animal, trapped as he was by the choices of his youth, and the results they had had on his life. Each movement was filled with nervous tension, his hands clasping and unclasping at his sides, a twitch returning where it had been long gone, no longer controlled by an iron will, the likes of which Dumbledore had rarely seen. That too, like the chances the man before him had of ever finding happiness in this life, disappearing as quickly as his sanity. "And I can't have him meddling in things that don't concern him. _You_ teach him Occlumency. I am sure he would be more willing to learn and less willing to snoop into your thoughts."

"On the contrary Severus, Harry has already taken that liberty with me." Dumbledore responded quietly, trying to allay some of Snape's anger.

"Typical of the young prat. Just like his father." Snape froze. Just the thought of James Potter, and the torment he had faced at his hand, made Snape shake. Dumbledore could see him trembling with a mixture of pain and rage, from across the room. James Potter was long dead, he had been gone for the best part of two decades, yet the memories that even the thought of the man invoked, still shook his poor victim to the core. If only Dumbledore had known the depth of the young Severus' traumatic experiences at the hands of his nemesis, he would have curbed the Marauders behaviour, it had just never occurred to him that the young Slytherin had taken their behaviour so seriously.

At the time, Dumbledore had accepted their behaviour as nothing more than schoolboy pranks, he had trusted the young werewolf Lupin, by far the most considerate of the group, not to allow things to get out of hand, even to the extent of making him prefect, ahead of his more popular friends, although that in itself had nearly ended in disaster for all of them one night in the Shrieking Shack. It wasn't until much later that he became aware of the nearly disastrous impact those pranks had on the Slytherin student, and the enduring damage that that almost fatal event had done. 

He had always been taciturn, a loner, with few friends and many enemies, even amongst the students of his own house, and it was no wonder he had turned to Voldemort in the end. It wasn't until he had come back, begging for redemption, willing to tell everything, including every terrible detail of a tragic childhood of parental abuse, that Dumbledore finally realised the damage that those 'schoolboy pranks' had caused. By then it was too late though, and he could do little except accept the lost boy back into the fold, and guide him as best he could as he recovered from the trauma of what he had seen and done. Now he was devoted to him, his Slytherin loyalties strong, and Dumbledore knew that to fail his saviour would kill Snape. He wouldn't quit while there was life in him. Dumbledore looked sadly at the trapped spirit – now he had forced him back to that dark place, and the trauma of that return, ready he had claimed, or not as Dumbledore was beginning to realise, was only causing the poor soul more damage.

The young man's dark eyes bored into the Headmaster, the intensity of the look staggering. Dumbledore realised now, how hard the double life Snape had been leading since the Triwizard Tournament had been. There was more than the usual superficial coldness in his eyes; there was fear. It was a sign that the constant, ongoing threat to his life that his position as a spy posed, was wearing him down. One word, one foolish mistake or false move would seal the Potions Master's fate. It would alert Voldemort and the Death Eaters of his betrayal and they wouldn't be pleased. It was clear to the Headmaster that Severus Snape was loosing control after facing constant danger for so long, and that didn't bode well for his safety – the man needed all his wits about him to survive the treacherous role he played. He walked a constant tightrope of calamity – the smallest mistake would result in his death, or worse, and Dumbledore knew he wouldn't be able to cope with the strain for much longer. The problem was he _needed_ him – badly – there was no one else who could get the information that the distraught young man before him could, no one else belonged to Voldemort's inner circle as this man did – so Dumbledore used him as both men knew he must.

There was more to Snape's agitation and increasingly erratic behaviour than just the weariness of the game and fear though. Deep down in his eyes, deep below the coldness, deeper even than the growing fear, was the torment of a man being forced to do things he no longer wished to do. Dumbledore knew, that in his role as a Death Eater, Snape participated in horrible activities that he couldn't even imagine, well, he could, but he tried not to, and he could see the trauma that those activities evoked. It was clear that Snape's torment was great, even though what he did in the name of the Dark, he did for the Light. 

Dumbledore realised, too, that the burden was even greater because of the man's constant battle not to fall again to the seduction that the Dark posed, knowing only too well, that to the boy who had known no joy in his young life, his time as a Death Eater must have seemed like bliss – it was the only time when he could release the iron self-control that had dominated every living, breathing moment of his short life. That control was even more important to wretched young man's life now. 

Dark arts, Dumbledore knew, once held a fascination for the Potions Master, he had been particularly skilled in them when he had arrive at Hogwarts, but it wasn't until much later that Dumbledore had learned why, and it would be easy for them to creep, unnoticed, back into the man's being, if he didn't keep his guard up. That only made the Potions Master's task harder, and Dumbledore could see in the dark haired man's eyes, that it was slowly sending him insane.

The Headmaster felt deep regret and sorrow at what he had to force his loyal servant to do. He trusted him with the most important task that any member of the Order had, and he knew the man would do as he bid until he had no strength left. Unfortunately, Dumbledore feared that that time was rapidly approaching, and he knew they weren't ready. 

"Severus, please."

The Potions Master did another lap of the office. The thought struck Dumbledore out of the blue, that they were always anticlockwise, as though trying to turn back time. He paused by the door. "Fine," he agreed quietly, trapped by his loyalty for the one that saved him. "As you wish, as always."

Dumbledore winced at that, and watched as the trapped man left his office. Sighing, he pulled a quill and parchment towards himself and started to write a letter he had hoped he would never need to send.

********************************************************************************


	2. Chapter One Repost and Chapter 2

Hi Everyone, sorry this has taken so long to get up, but I don't really have a lot of internet access at the moment. I have added a little to chapter 1 which I have posted here because it is easier than trying to replace a chapter. Please read and enjoy. Review too. Thanks. 

***

Chapter 1 – Memories that Burn 

Dumbledore looked at the aggravated young man before him, wishing there was some way to calm him. "Severus, I can't have you overstepping the boundaries like that," He admonished gently. "What if the jar had actually hit Harry?"

"It didn't though did it?" The young man hissed.

Dumbledore watched as the Potions Master paced the room like a caged animal, trapped as he was by the choices of his youth, and the results they had had on his life. Each movement was filled with nervous tension, his hands clasping and unclasping at his sides, a twitch returning where it had been long gone, no longer controlled by an iron will, the likes of which Dumbledore had rarely seen. That too, like the chances the man before him had of ever finding happiness in this life, disappearing as quickly as his sanity. "And I can't have him meddling in things that don't concern him. You teach him Occlumency. I am sure he would be more willing to learn and less willing to snoop into your thoughts."

"On the contrary Severus, Harry has already taken that liberty with me." Dumbledore responded quietly, trying to allay some of Snape's anger.

"Typical of the young prat. Just like his father." Snape froze. Just the thought of James Potter, and the torment he had faced at his hand, made Snape shake. Dumbledore could see him trembling with a mixture of pain and rage, from across the room. James Potter was long dead, he had been gone for the best part of two decades, yet the memories that even the thought of the man invoked, still shook his poor victim to the core. If only Dumbledore had known the depth of the young Severus' traumatic experiences at the hands of his nemesis, he would have curbed the Marauders behaviour, it had just never occurred to him that the young Slytherin had taken their behaviour so seriously.

At the time, Dumbledore had accepted their behaviour as nothing more than schoolboy pranks, he had trusted the young werewolf Lupin, by far the most considerate of the group, not to allow things to get out of hand, even to the extent of making him prefect, ahead of his more popular friends, although that in itself had nearly ended in disaster for all of them one night in the Shrieking Shack. It wasn't until much later that he became aware of the nearly disastrous impact those pranks had on the Slytherin student, and the enduring damage that that almost fatal event had done. 

He had always been taciturn, a loner, with few friends and many enemies, even amongst the students of his own house, and it was no wonder he had turned to Voldemort in the end. It wasn't until he had come back, begging for redemption, willing to tell everything, including every terrible detail of a tragic childhood of parental abuse, that Dumbledore finally realised the damage that those 'schoolboy pranks' had caused. By then it was too late though, and he could do little except accept the lost boy back into the fold, and guide him as best he could as he recovered from the trauma of what he had seen and done. Now he was devoted to him, his Slytherin loyalties strong, and Dumbledore knew that to fail his saviour would kill Snape. He wouldn't quit while there was life in him. Dumbledore looked sadly at the trapped spirit – now he had forced him back to that dark place, and the trauma of that return, ready he had claimed, or not as Dumbledore was beginning to realise, was only causing the poor soul more damage.

The young man's dark eyes bored into the Headmaster, the intensity of the look staggering. Dumbledore realised now, how hard the double life Snape had been leading since the Triwizard Tournament had been. There was more than the usual superficial coldness in his eyes; there was fear. It was a sign that the constant, ongoing threat to his life that his position as a spy posed, was wearing him down. One word, one foolish mistake or false move would seal the Potions Master's fate. It would alert Voldemort and the Death Eaters of his betrayal and they wouldn't be pleased. It was clear to the Headmaster that Severus Snape was loosing control after facing constant danger for so long, and that didn't bode well for his safety – the man needed all his wits about him to survive the treacherous role he played. He walked a constant tightrope of calamity – the smallest mistake would result in his death, or worse, and Dumbledore knew he wouldn't be able to cope with the strain for much longer. The problem was he needed him – badly – there was no one else who could get the information that the distraught young man before him could, no one else belonged to Voldemort's inner circle as this man did – so Dumbledore used him as both men knew he must.

There was more to Snape's agitation and increasingly erratic behaviour than just the weariness of the game and fear though. Deep down in his eyes, deep below the coldness, deeper even than the growing fear, was the torment of a man being forced to do things he no longer wished to do. Dumbledore knew, that in his role as a Death Eater, Snape participated in horrible activities that he couldn't even imagine, well, he could, but he tried not to, and he could see the trauma that those activities evoked. It was clear that Snape's torment was great, even though what he did in the name of the Dark, he did for the Light. 

Dumbledore realised, too, that the burden was even greater because of the man's constant battle not to fall again to the seduction that the Dark posed, knowing only too well, that to the boy who had known no joy in his young life, his time as a Death Eater must have seemed like bliss – it was the only time when he could release the iron self-control that had dominated every living, breathing moment of his short life. That control was even more important to wretched young man's life now. 

Dark arts, Dumbledore knew, once held a fascination for the Potions Master, he had been particularly skilled in them when he had arrive at Hogwarts, but it wasn't until much later that Dumbledore had learned why, and it would be easy for them to creep, unnoticed, back into the man's being, if he didn't keep his guard up. That only made the Potions Master's task harder, and Dumbledore could see in the dark haired man's eyes, that it was slowly sending him insane.

The Headmaster felt deep regret and sorrow at what he had to force his loyal servant to do. He trusted him with the most important task that any member of the Order had, and he knew the man would do as he bid until he had no strength left. Unfortunately, Dumbledore feared that that time was rapidly approaching, and he knew they weren't ready. 

"Severus, please."

The Potions Master did another lap of the office. The thought struck Dumbledore out of the blue, that they were always anticlockwise, as though trying to turn back time. He paused by the door. "Fine," he agreed quietly, trapped by his loyalty for the one that saved him. "As you wish, as always."

Dumbledore winced at that, and watched as the trapped man left his office. Sighing, he pulled a quill and parchment towards himself and started to write a letter he had hoped he would never need to send.

"My Dear Professor Ivanov,

I am almost entirely certain that I have perhaps not used the appropriate form of address here, given your position. Please forgive me if this has caused any offence. Urgency dictates that I dispense with the usual niceties and get to the point before one of my staff members unravels.

You once wrote to me, offering your services to our school. At the time I had no need of them and I declined your generous offer. You even more generously left the offer open. While I understand that the timing may be difficult, given the problems that you currently face in the battle against your own evil, I now find myself in need of your singular services, and would appreciate any assistance that you might find yourself capable of giving.

I await your reply with a sense of urgency,

Your humble servant,

Albus Dumbledore,

Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry"

Dumbledore placed the parchment in an envelope and called for a school owl. Tying the message to the willing bird's leg, he sent it on its way, hoping that the addressee would be able to provide the assistance required.

Dumbledore was surprised by the arrival of a large Siberian albatross less than a week later. The speed of the reply worried him; perhaps she was unable to assist him at this time. Opening the letter with hands that shook slightly, knowing only too well what that would cost the dark haired Potions Master, after watching his recent decline into instability, Dumbledore could hardly bare to read her response.

Her reply was in a florid script that made his own appear easy to decipher, but he had no difficulty. It was brief.

"My Dear Professor Dumbledore,

No offence was intended and none was taken.

I shall assist you as best I can, and will arrive at Hogwarts as soon as I am able, but certainly before the beginning of the school year.

Kind regards

Irina Ivanov

Tsarina, Russian Wizarding Community

Professor, Baikal Institute of Advanced Wizardry"

Chapter 2 – Bad News Always Comes in Threes 

The staff meeting was already half over before Snape stalked into the room. He didn't acknowledge anyone, he merely moved quickly into the shadows in the corner off the room and stood, moving restlessly from foot to foot, wishing he could be anywhere but here, wishing that for once he could be excused from the necessity of attending another staff meeting. After all, his views were never taken into account, regardless of the topics to be discussed. Even when they were discussing possible curriculum changes, something that would directly affect HIM, his ideas were all but ignored.

Dumbledore may have trusted him, perhaps even with the most vital task in the preparations for the up an coming battle against Voldemort, not that he had a choice, he thought bitterly, but he rarely listened to him on any other topic. He hadn't wanted to teach Potter Occlumency, he had protested vehemently against the imposition, knowing only too well that the boy didn't trust him enough to learn anything of such importance from him, but as with every other decision regarding his position within Hogwarts, his concerns were ignored, and look at where that had got them. The only wizard "family" the boy had, was now gone, not that Snape would miss the mangy cur. As far as he could see, Black's death was no great loss, unless of course, the boy couldn't overcome his grief and successfully defeat his old master.

Most of the time, he wondered if perhaps, staff meetings were just an opportunity for Dumbledore to rub his nose in his lowly position in the Hogwarts Pecking Order. Even Trelawny's suggestions were taken more seriously than his own and apart from one particularly brilliant piece of prophecy she had never predicted anything as simple as a rain storm. Anger grew in him and he could barely control the urge to hex the lot of them to kingdom come. He was more powerful than most of them. But for one stupid mistake HE would be the one they were bowing to.

"Ah, Severus, I am glad you have arrived, I was just about to inform the faculty of something that will directly affect you."

"Thank you so much for the warning Headmaster." Snape answered quietly, the sarcasm barely veiled, and anger building. It would directly affect him, probably not in a positive way, and the old man hadn't even considered telling him privately. Damn him, damn the lot of them.

Dumbledore looked at the young man, worried about him, but he wasn't the only one to notice the Potions Masters increasingly erratic behaviour. McGonagall watched the young man too, with a mixture of sadness and concern, before turning her attention back to Dumbledore. The Headmaster nodded at her, almost imperceptibly, before continuing, the same sadness touching his blue eyes.

"As you are well aware, he who shall not be named has returned and that has finally been acknowledged by the ministry." This was met by some polite laughter. "The result is that the Ministry believe that it is important for us to have the best defence against the dark arts professor available." Dumbledore smiled gently at the collection of witches and wizards. "Finding a single professor with appropriate qualifications has been difficult, there was some more polite laughter, so for the first time in many years, the post will be filled by 3 professors, each with their own particular strengths. This will, of course, require a slight re-arrangement of schedules, but I hope it will ultimately have very little impact on our normal curriculum."

The announcement was met by general discussion from those listening. Only McGonagall, who already knew the details, and the Potions Master, who was waiting for the rest of the Headmaster's information to hit before reacting, remained silent. He knew what slight adjustment meant… Potions would be put forward or back, or changed to weekends, or simply cancelled. He knew exactly what adjustments meant. 

What did it matter though? The younger students would never miss potions, most would be grateful for the reprieve, and after the dismal performance of the older students, he would only be accepting about 10 of them into his advanced classes anyway. So what if the art and science of the shimmering cauldron was lost? Few genuinely appreciated the subtle power that potions held anyway, so why should he care?

He returned his attention to Dumbledore, wondering just which dunderheads he would employ THIS time… He hardly had a successful track record in selecting defence professors. The bloody phoenix would probably do a better job, but the most recent holder of the position had been the last straw for Snape. She had outdone him in sadism and vindictiveness. He had seen the scars on Potter's hand, and remembered only too well what invoked that type of injury, from his own time as a student.

If he had cared to, he could have stopped the shrew, but he had decided that if the boy was finally to be punished for rule breaking, something he wholly missed out on in general, then who was he to stop it. In fact, it saved him from punishing him, not that that had made a difference. The boy still hated him, perhaps even more now that he was "responsible" for Black's death. He shot off a quick prayer to the Gods to kill him now, but when death didn't come, he decided that even they must be against him.

"Of course, I considered the options carefully, and the best combination of defence skills could only come from three professors, two which have taught here previously, and the third, a new comer. Alastor Moody will be returning, as will Remus Lupin."

Dumbledore watched as Snape's eyes flashed an undecipherable emotion, knowing only too well from previous experience what it was. Knowing too, that he would work with the werewolf at his request, because of his loyalty, not because he had forgiven or forgotten that almost fatal encounter. Dumbledore hated the fact that he was forcing the young man further and further into a corner he couldn't escape, but the battle to come was bigger than childhood hatred, real or not.

"Severus, of course you will be required to produce Wolfsbane again." He added gently.

Snape glared at him, disgusted and angry. "Of course."

The resentment was thick in the two-word answer.

"These two will be joined by a foreign professor, who will be arriving any day now from Russia."

Those in the room gasped.

"We are fortunate to be joined by one of the pre-eminent professors in that country. Professor Irina Ivanov has generously agreed to help us for the year."

There was more muttering from the collected professors.

"Yes, I understand that most of you are aware of what risks that brings with it. Just as you are aware of the sacrifices that Professor Ivanov has made by agreeing to come here. It is for that reason alone that I expect that you will all treat her with the respect accorded to one holding such a position." He paused briefly, watching the Potions Master. "Severus, Irina's arrival will affect you more than the rest. I have asked her if she would be willing to assist you in your Potions classes."

For the briefest moment, Snape thought the Headmaster was trying to amuse the gathering, but then he realised that he was speaking the truth. Anger exploded inside him but he managed to bring it into check before responding. "Please Albus, tell me that you are not serious." His voice was calm, but there was a deadly edge to it that his students knew well.

"I am afraid I am serious Severus. I think it would be helpful to you to have an assistant, given the particularly busy schedule you have, and considering what's involved in the extra-curricular activities you partake in."

"I don't think that will be necessary, thank you for your concern though. I am managing quite well without an assistant thank you very much."

"I don't think you are Severus, there are signs that things are becoming too much for you. You will probably be glad to hear that she will be taking responsibility for teaching Harry Occlumency too, so you will no longer be burdened with that either."

"I don't need an assistant, nor do I want one, regardless of any other role she might play."

Dumbledore smiled gently. "On the contrary Severus, you do need an assistant, and you will have one, whether you want one or not." The older wizard's tone was gentle, but insistent.

Snape realised that he had no say in this either, like everything to do with his miserable life. "Fine. Do what you like." He spat. "I no longer care. Voldemort would be merciful if he killed me now." The Potions Master pulled his cloak around him and stalked angrily from the staff room.

The staff watched him go, some more shocked by his outburst than others. Snape never referred to He who shall not be named as Voldemort. There was an unspoken rule that the name was never even used in his presence. Some of them had learned that rule the hard way.

Dumbledore watched sadly as the door closed behind the agitated man. Well, he thought, that went well. He looked at the assembled staff. "Thank you all for your continued patience. I realise that Severus' behaviour is difficult at the moment, but I want you all to understand that he is facing great danger and that poses a considerable burden on him. Please all try to be tolerant of his little outbursts." He paused briefly, thinking. "I think we are finished for today. Our new professors should be arriving in the next couple of days, we shall get together then."

Snape slammed the door to his office and a jar shook briefly before falling from a shelf behind his desk. "Damn it," he swore to the empty room while he cleaned up the contents. "What the hell is the old man doing? An assistant! Of all the –." Before he could finish the sentence, pain burned up his arm, and his anger at the Headmaster was gone. That was all he needed. 

Using all his skills, he brought his temper back under control and started to clear his mind, preparing himself for the upcoming meeting. He moved to his desk and pulled out a piece of parchment to leave a message for the Headmaster, but as he reached for his quill he thought better of it. Damn it, what did it matter anyway, he had already been replaced as a Professor. His only remaining value was as a spy, and he suspected that even that would be short lived.

Reaching into the hidden drawer in his desk, he removed his Death Eater mask and concealed it under his robes. The staff may have known of his past allegiances, but such a stark reminder would make the vast majority of them recoil in horror, not that he cared much. Moving quickly, not wishing to keep his "Master" waiting, he stalked from his office and out of Hogwarts. Perhaps if he were lucky it would be for the last time.

***

"Severus," the Dark lord hissed you have news for me?" 

"No my lord." Snape lied, keeping his face steady, but having a harder time controlling the pounding of his heart.

"Severus, don't lie to me. I know you have just come from a staff meeting in the Headmaster's office. I want you to tell me what it was about."

Snape almost recoiled at the words. So it was true, there was another spying on Hogwarts. That was dangerous for all of them. He wanted to be sick – if Albus knew half of what he had to do to keep the Dark Lord believing in the charade of his loyalty, he would have no say in the schools activities at all. "My lord, forgive me. It was merely a meeting to discuss the arrival of the new defence professors."

"Plural Severus? Is there to be more than one?" The dark lord raised an eyebrow and contemplated the weary looking man before him, wondering just how long he would be able to withstand Cruciatus this time.

"Yes My Lord, there is to be three. The Auror and the werewolf are to return and there will be a third. All I know of the third professor is that she is a woman from Russia. I arrived too late to find out her identity." He lied, hoping against hope that the Dark Lord hadn't been watching too closely; after all, he HAD arrived late.

"Late? Severus, that is unlike you. Perhaps you need a reminder of the role you are playing for me. What use is a spy if he doesn't keep his finger on the pulse, so to speak? Severus I am disappointed in you."

Snape could barely control the rising fear. He knew what would come next, but how could one be ready for that?

"Crucious."

Controlling the will to scream at the sudden onslaught of pain, Snape fell to his knees, reeling from the agony the curse induced. With the suddenness of dark magic, acid, not blood coursed through his veins, and every inch of his skin felt like a thousand white-hot needles were stabbing it. The pain was so intense he couldn't breathe, and for the briefest time darkness overcame him as his body stopped struggling against the onslaught. 

Then, as quickly as it came, the pain left, and he was left, shaking, gasping for air, and desperately trying to overcome the desire to vomit. He almost sighed with relief, before he was thrust into blackness again by the application of a boot to his ribs. The cracking sound, the searing pain in his chest and the sudden inability to breathe properly, pushed him over the edge – the last thing he was aware of was the sound of laughter. Yes, he thought as his mind retreated, it was quite amusing.


	3. The Return

Chapter 3 - The Return  
  
Hi Everyone,  
  
This is just a short note to thank you for your patience. Sorry about the delay in getting back to you, but I have just arrived back home. I will try to post more regularly from now on, although I am sure you will understand if things are a little hectic during the actual Christmas/New Year period.  
  
Just wanted to say that I got through all my exams, so I am now two thirds of the way through my university course. By this time next year I will be looking for work! I am already excited.  
  
Take care everyone, and if I don't post again before Christmas, please have a pleasant and safe time.  
  
Karren.  
  
*****  
  
The blonde haired woman walked quietly through the Forbidden Forest listening to the creatures that dwelled there moving away from her. She remembered this place well, or at least would have had she ever been there, she thought. It was still dark and silent as it always had been, but there was a new energy in the darkness of the forest, and she realised it was the souls of the dead rising. Whatever dark magic Voldemort was using, she assumed it was him, had made the dead unhappy, stirring them from sleep into renewed activity. It made her shiver, it had been a lifetime since she had faced such darkness and she wondered if she was ready, not that she had an option. This was what she had come here for. Her whole life had been spent preparing for this moment.  
  
There was a ripple of energy a little way ahead of her in the gloom. It made her shiver. The energy felt black, not just dark, but black. It was a sign of true evil. Irina sighed and prepared herself. Wand drawn, the gentle blue glow emanating from the sapphire crystal it was made of lighting the path in front of her slightly, she moved cautiously towards the energy source.  
  
"Luminos." She breathed quietly when she reached the point of the energy surge. The tip of the wand glowed with an intensely white light that lit her surroundings and thrust the darkness of the forest back. The light revealed what appeared to be a large pile of black rags just ahead of Irina in a clearing. She realised with a start, that it was in fact a body, but there was not much energy being emitted from it. Whoever the darkly clad man or woman was, they were as close to death as one could be without passing through the veil.  
  
Irina moved quickly to the body and held her wand against it. "Medica Parinate." Energy passed down Irina's wand, into the fallen body, and she waited while it moved through the body before returning to her. She gasped as she realised the extent of the damage. If she hadn't been there to help, if no one had been there, this poor soul would have been dead within minutes.  
  
Kneeling now, she gently took the body and rolled it over onto its back. Irina's pale cheeks grew paler. She knew this man.  
  
Snape felt hands take his shoulders and gently roll him over. Barely still alive, barely conscious of anything, he still heard the small, sharp, intake of breath. He struggled to open his eyes, wondering who was disturbing his death. The face of a woman emerged from the haze of darkness in his eyes. He was almost reluctant to let go of the opportunity to escape life, but the woman's eyes drew him back. Those eyes were the most beautiful he had ever seen, except perhaps for one other person's, and she had left him a lifetime ago.  
  
He drew in a straggling breath, then another, before his throat closed over and he almost choked. He panicked, unable to draw air into his lungs. Suddenly there was a gentle hand on his face, and soothing words rolled over him.  
  
"Quiet, be peaceful. Don't struggle, you will only make it worse."  
  
He paid heed to the stranger, using his iron will to control the rising panic and his throat opened as he relaxed again.  
  
Irina watched, as fear grew in the dark haired man's eyes then receded. Good, she thought, at least he was capable of reason; that showed his mind was still intact. "You will be alright, but you have to relax. You have been badly injured both by physical and magical abuse. I have sent a healing charm into you, but it needs a little more time to work. Let it do its job."  
  
Snape closed his eyes and listened to the soothing voice. It clearly belonged to a foreigner. Her English was perfect, but there was the slightest hint of an accent. The sound of kindness was such a beautiful melody that he vowed that should he survive he would follow this woman anywhere.  
  
Irina waited while Snape calmed down. As he relaxed, his breathing eased, and her healing charm took effect. As he recovered, she relaxed, grateful again for her extensive and varied training. A Mediwitch would never have arrived in time to save him. It was only luck that had found her in the forest at just the right time to maintain his life.  
  
Snape tried to sit, but he didn't have the strength. He was surprised when the woman put an arm around his shoulder and drew him upwards. "Thank you." He hardly recognised his own voice, his recent, close shave with death having reduced his normally sonorous tones to a jagged, hoarse sound that barely resembled a voice at all.  
  
Irina smiled. "It is my pleasure. How do you feel?"  
  
"Two minutes ago I was dying, and glad to be - there is nothing in my life to live for after all. Now I am alive and while I am not entirely pleased with that I am grateful to you for helping me."  
  
Irina's heart cried out at the thought that the dark haired man had so desired death as a release from his life. He was as bad as the Headmaster had said in his last letter, if not worse. He had accepted her help this time; it didn't mean he would accept her help again. She was, in fact, almost entirely certain that he wouldn't. After the treatment he had received, she wasn't surprised he didn't know how to hope and trust.  
  
She smiled gently at him. "Do you think you are ready to stand?"  
  
"I think so." Snape was surprised at the speed that he was recovering. Whoever this pale woman was, her magic was strong and she had put a lot of energy into her healing charm. He almost felt as though he had never even been hurt. Almost.  
  
Irina stood and reached down to assist Snape to his feet. He rose somewhat unsteadily, and briefly she thought he might fall again. When he steadied, she released the breath she had been holding. Happy he was able to stand without support, Irina moved away slightly to give him room. As she stepped back she noticed something fall from within his robes, now that he was upright again. It was a white mask, a Death Eater's mask! Instinctively, Irina recoiled from the object, knowing exactly what it stood for. It was precisely the wrong thing to do, but she couldn't control the involuntary action.  
  
Snape stiffened at her reaction; he was unsurprised that Voldemort would return him WITH his mask; it branded him as surely as the mark on his arm did. It spoke of the bearer's capacity for hatred. It hid the faces of those most evil, beings that had performed untold acts of cruelty against the innocent. Those with such black souls showed no mercy and deserved none in return. It was no surprise that she had recoiled, he thought, she was clearly untainted by the evil that filled his soul. He doubted she had ever known such evil.  
  
"I - I -."  
  
"Don't bother apologising." He said in his coldest voice. "There is no point. We both know what that means. Thank you for your help, but I suggest you leave now." Snape spoke quickly, the coldness of his soul hardening his eyes and voice. "It is not safe here for the likes of you."  
  
Irina looked at him then nodded, realising that fighting now would only make things worse later. "You may well be right."  
  
Snape turned from the woman, almost reluctantly, knowing only too well that those eyes would haunt him the rest of his life, just as those of another already did. "Goodbye." He walked slowly, almost tentatively, away.  
  
Irina watched as the darkly clad man disappeared into the distance. It was clear that he still wasn't completely healed but she knew he would accept no more help for the moment. "Perhaps not for ever Severus Snape." She said quietly to the departing figure.  
  
***  
  
Dumbledore watched as the small, black-clad figure trudged slowly back towards the castle. He had clearly been seriously injured during the latest Death Eater meeting. He was almost angry with the younger man for not telling him he had been called, but that anger was mixed with a large measure of guilt and an equally large measure of concern. He was asking too much of his Potions Master, and the time was fast approaching when the young man would be beyond help or redemption. He only hoped it wasn't already too late, and that his new Professor would be able to make some sort of positive impact on the young man when she arrived.  
  
He turned back towards his guests. "Alastor, Remus, I must ask you to be kind to Severus. He is under a great deal of pressure at the moment and I don't want any stray comments from either of you to push him too far. His sanity is balanced on a knife-edge as it is and we can't afford to loose him. Besides, he deserves gratitude for his sacrifices."  
  
Moody grunted. "Albus, the boy is still a Death Eater. We both know that death is the only way to escape that. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater."  
  
Dumbledore looked at his old friend. "You may be right Alastor, but the boy has died many times over for us. I understand how hard this is for you, but please try to be tolerant for me. He made a terrible decision when he was younger, but I have made many since then. His torment is great enough without you adding to his burden. I am sure you will see this for yourself when he returns."  
  
"Well," the gruff ex-auror grumbled, looking out of the window again, "I suppose I can TRY to be tolerant AND forgetful. Just remember, the first time he tries to hex me he dies. I want that clearly understood. I won't tolerate that type of behaviour from filth like him."  
  
"I am sure he will not try anything of the kind Alastor. Right now I don't think he has it in him, neither the energy, nor the desire."  
  
Lupin moved to the window and watched the lonely figure as he approached. "Yes," he said quietly, understanding the Potions Master's aloneness well. "I think you are right Headmaster, he is clearly weary of the fight. I wonder how much longer he will be able to continue. I -." The quiet man paused, considering his next words. "I admit to having mixed feelings about him in the past, but those days are long gone. Regardless of the fact that he told everyone of my condition, I don't bear him a grudge. He was simply responding to what happened while we were students. I can hardly blame him - he suffered terribly at our hands. I am actually surprised that he found it in himself to brew me Wolfsbane, clearly that was an act of a contrite soul. I shall endeavour not to exacerbate his problems."  
  
Remus remembered with a start that Severus had not only brewed his Wolfsbane during his last stint as a Hogwarts professor, but he had actually created the potion in the first place, with some help, as part of his advanced potions thesis. It had probably been created in an effort to protect himself from further attacks, after the trauma that had been inflicted by the almost fatal episode in the Shrieking Shack.  
  
Remus shuddered at the memory of how close he had come to killing the dark haired boy. Sirius was an irresponsible fool for playing such a potentially dangerous prank. It wasn't even funny, at least not to the two boys most involved. Remus had suffered nightmares for months afterwards - he expected that for Snape, the nightmares had probably lasted for years, if they had truly left him yet.  
  
Snape had been forced into a life debt that night, one that would continue to punish him until he died. Remus thought that he should have borne a life debt too. If he had managed to kill the Slytherin, he would never have survived. As it was, very few had found out about his condition after that episode, and that was mainly due to the honour of the man he had almost killed.  
  
Snape, probably through fear or embarrassment, had not told more than two or three people, and only a small, pureblood group of Slytherins, those that had gone on to become Voldemort's closest followers had cared anyway. Fortunately for Remus, and unfortunately for his victim, the tormented dark- haired wizard, Dumbledore had sided with the Gryffindor trio and had facilitated his continued education by protecting him from further speculation.  
  
The Slytherin boy had received no such support, and he knew he still bore the scars of that slight. Even now, he still felt victimised - that was the reason that he so willingly risked his life by spying for the light - he hoped that it would earn him some measure of consideration. Unbeknown to Snape, he had earned more than mere consideration many years ago due to his efforts. Dumbledore and the Order held the dark haired man in such high esteem for his work that they were truly worried that they might drive him too far by their requests, and there had been occasions when alternative arrangements had been made to save the dark haired man from further burdens.  
  
"Thank you both. I realise how hard it is for you, but please try to remember that he sees that you both have friends and support while he has none. I wish he would realise how wrong he is, but I am afraid that it is too late for that. Loneliness and his crimes have forced him to close himself to friendship and companionship. He neither accepts it nor gives it. All he knows is loyalty, honour, service and pain, and sadly I am responsible for most of it, particularly the pain."  
  
"But not the sole bearer of responsibility Professor Dumbledore."  
  
The three men turned from their contemplation of the Potions Master, and looked at the young woman who had entered the office unnoticed. "Professor Ivanov," Dumbledore smiled, delighted at the woman's arrival, "or should that be Tsarina?"  
  
"Please, call me Irina, particularly in private."  
  
"Only if you agree to call me Albus."  
  
The fair skinned, blond haired woman shook her head. "No, Headmaster, I do not think that would be appropriate."  
  
Dumbledore nodded. "As you wish my dear." He turned to his two colleagues. "Alastor, Remus, I would like to introduce you to Professor Irina Ivanov, Tsarina of the Russian Wizarding Community."  
  
Both wizards bowed. "Your Highness."  
  
"Please, Gentlemen, it is unnecessary for such formalities. I am here only as a Professor, not as anything else. Please call me Irina."  
  
Alastor straightened and moved forward, offering his hand. "Irina it is then. I am Alastor Moody. A lifetime ago I was an Auror. Now I am reduced to teaching students Defence skills, as you are. I will enjoy working with you. Your reputation is well known, even this far from your homeland. I, for one, am grateful that you were able to join us."  
  
Irina moved forward and held out her hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you Alastor. I believe I will enjoy working with you." She smiled then turned to Lupin. "That means that you must be Remus Lupin, the Werewolf. It is a pleasure to meet you also." She offered her hand.  
  
Lupin looked at the woman, almost embarrassed by his scruffy appearance. It was true then, he hadn't believed it when Dumbledore had told him, but it seemed that he was to be working with one of the noblest personages within the wizarding world. He felt inadequate in his rags; he was nothing but a worthless werewolf. He couldn't believe that the Tsarina would acknowledge him.  
  
Irina Ivanov was the closest thing that the wizarding world had to a Queen, and she dressed as one would expect one of noble birth to dress. She wore the most beautiful robes he had ever seen; they were thick and white, embroidered with a pattern of gold and blue. They fell softly over her, surrounding her like a cloud and accentuating her beauty. His eyes moved quickly over the woman, drinking in her exquisiteness, surprised that such loveliness could still exist during such terrible times. When he realised that she was watching him, with an amused smile on her face, he blushed. "It is a pleasure to meet you." He answered quietly, returning his eyes to the floor, and bowing again.  
  
Irina noticed the quiet man's shame and was saddened by it - it was unnecessary. She moved forward and touched his shoulder. "Please, Remus, don't be embarrassed, there is no need for that." She smiled gently as his eyes met hers. "Your condition is unfortunate for you, it does not frighten or sicken me, it only saddens me that we can find no way to cure it even if Wolfsbane has gone some way to alleviating the difficulties associated with it." She added quietly so that only he could hear. She took his hand gently, and he was stuck by her sincerity and a feeling of acceptance.  
  
It took less than half a second for him to fall in love with this kind woman. She was as bewitching as a Veela, but far less dangerous. She didn't steal your mind; she stole only your heart. She left you capable of thought. She was the most beautiful and kindest thing he had laid eyes on since Lily Potter's death. Lily, too, had quickly seen beyond the surface of an unlovable creature to the lonely, lost boy within, but she had seen the good in many of their fellow students, including the boy that was to become the tortured Potions Master.  
  
Lily had been one of only two students to be genuinely kind to him too, and it hadn't been just because he was one of the Marauders. Lily had been kind to almost everyone, including the Werewolf, and Remus unlike Snape, hadn't rejected that friendship; he had accepted it gratefully instead, knowing the value of friendship.  
  
Remus had been fortunate enough to have loving parents, and clever enough to realise that Lily's friendship was genuine and built on a loving soul. He had been grateful for Lily's small kindnesses, and for the times she would forsake her crowd of friends to enquire about him. Just knowing there was someone who cared had been enough to help the child he had been through painful and turbulent years of teenage transformations.  
  
If adolescence had been difficult for every student, it had been doubly so for Remus, going through painful monthly transformations as he did. His natural shyness was only exacerbated by the thought that should any student find out about his condition he would be an outcast again, or killed.  
  
Before the invention of wolfsbane, something he realised he had never thanked Snape for, the most likely outcome for a werewolf living in society was death. Most of society felt so threatened by the possibilities that it was far easier for a werewolf to be condemned to death than tolerated. Lily had shown that there was another way. They had shared a personal relationship that few others understood and he had missed that relationship for almost a lifetime. For the first time in years Remus was stirred deeply by a feeling of acceptance.  
  
At that precise moment, the office door was slammed open and the dark haired Potions Master stalked in like a thunderstorm.  
  
"Ah, Severus, I see you have been away. I am glad you have returned safely to us," Dumbledore offered in way of encouragement.  
  
"Yes, I am sure you are." He responded curtly. Those in the office noticed that there was exhaustion as well as antagonism clearly evident in the man's features. They worried about both, but of the two, the exhaustion was by far the greatest threat. If exhaustion affected his performance in Voldemort's presence, he could well be dead before he even realised his mistake.  
  
Dumbledore ignored the irritable comment, knowing only too well how delicate the man's sensibilities were after a meeting with the Dark Lord. It was hardly the ideal time to introduce him to Irina, but he had no option, given the fact that she was standing right beside the darkly clad man. "Severus, you are already acquainted with Alastor and Remus. I would like to introduce you to Professor Irina Ivanov."  
  
Snape tuned to the woman with a look of disinterest, having managed to ignore her to that point. Forced now, as he was, to consider her, colour drained from his face as he recognised the woman who had helped him in the forest then recoiled when she realised what he was. And he was supposed to work with her! He should have known, he thought moodily. It was the final straw. At least it wouldn't be too hard to get rid of her. She would run from him readily, with just a little encouragement, given her earlier reaction.  
  
Irina watched the dark haired man closely, briefly thinking he might collapse from the shock. She wanted to move to him in case she was needed to render assistance, but she doubted that would be appreciated. Instead she bowed slightly, not letting her eyes leave him. "You must be Professor Snape, your reputation as an extraordinary Potions Master is renowned even in my own country. It is a pleasure to meet you finally."  
  
Snape watched the woman, trying to ignore the compulsion to lose himself in those eyes. He wondered if she had told Dumbledore of their meeting in the forest. He chastised himself for his foolishness; of course she had! After all, it would be her job to spy on him and report back to his new Master, that was the real reason he had to work with her, and he knew it. "Yes, I am sure it is. Unfortunately I can't say the same."  
  
Irina continued, ignoring the remark. "I look forward to working with you. It will be a pleasure to work with such a Master of the art of the shimmering cauldron."  
  
"Don't worry, I shall make sure it isn't, if I can't avoid being burdened with you altogether that is." He turned and stormed from the office in much the same manner as he arrived.  
  
Dumbledore turned to Irina, who was watching Snape depart with a look of sadness in her eyes. "Professor, please forgive Severus for his rudeness. He is always a little testy after he meets with Voldemort."  
  
Irina shook her head. "There is no need to apologise. I completely understand. Not that I think it will be easy to integrate myself into his world." Privately, Irina realised it might well be impossible. That would have to change though if they were to have any chance of defeating the Dark Lord. Only then could she return to her homeland and family, and while that was the most important reason for her wanting to make the relationship with the bad tempered Potions Master work. It wasn't the only reason. 


	4. A Boy's Pain

**Chapter 4 – A Boy's Pain**

Harry woke up screaming for the fourth time that night. It seemed that every time he fell to sleep he saw Sirius fall through the veil again or he saw him the day he had left for Hogwarts… "This will help you when you need me." If only he had listened! He couldn't believe how badly things had gone. All because he hadn't listened and hadn't learned Occlumency. He hated himself, but he hated everyone else more.

Dumbledore had known what would happen, but hadn't said anything. Snape had known too, he was sure of that, but he certainly didn't care. He had never cared for Sirius, not that that was a surprise, given what he had seen in the pensive. It explained a lot about why Snape hated him, but it didn't excuse his behaviour. Harry would never forgive him. He hoped he had failed his Potions O.W.L, another year with Snape would be unbearable.

Dudley banged on the wall. "Shut up freak." Harry groaned. That would have woken Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. Now he would be in trouble, again.

He could hear footsteps in the hall. Aunt Petunia. He stiffened, trying to control his rapidly pounding heart and the pain that raced through him at the thought of Sirius. The footsteps stopped and a door opened, but it wasn't his door. "Be quiet Dudley or you will wake your father up."

Harry almost died, Aunt Petunia had told Dudley off! He was sure she would yell at him. He stopped breathing, and waited for his door to open. Surely he would be next.

The door opened, and he heard his Aunt's footsteps on the floorboards. He didn't dare look at her. She was sure to be wild. He kept his back to the door, and curled tighter into a ball. He started when he felt a thin, long fingered hand on his shoulder. "Harry, are you alright?"

Harry's heart nearly stopped with shock. He was confused. His Aunt was being almost kind.

"Harry," she tried again, "please tell me what is wrong. Something must be bothering you for you to wake up screaming like that. What happened?"

Harry couldn't respond, he simply didn't know how too. He felt the hand drop from his shoulder. "Wait…" he choked out, barely stifling a sob. He was surprised when his Aunt's thin arms pulled him towards her and wrapped themselves around him somewhat stiffly.

"Tell me what happened."

Harry turned around. Opening his eyes, he found his Aunt watching him with a strange look on her face. Suddenly he was confused. "I don't understand."

"Let us just say that I know more than you think about your other life." Her lips curled in disgust before she continued. "I don't like what you are and what it means, but I know enough. I will listen to you if you want to talk, just don't let Dudley or your Uncle know. They will never understand, or forgive. Lily was my sister, and while I hated what she became, I never hated her. It isn't such a difficult thing for me to come to terms with, unlike your Uncle and Cousin."

Harry quickly remembered the previous summer. The night he and Dudley had been attacked by the Dementors. The night his Aunt had received the Howler. He had been freaked out by what had happened in the kitchen. She had known about Hogwarts the whole time. Now she was offering him a chance to talk, but he didn't know how to begin, or even if he should. How much did she really know? Did she even know Sirius? He had always thought that she must have disowned his Mother when she had gained her powers. What if he was wrong?

"I, I don't know how to start. Did you know Sirius?"

Aunt Petunia looked at him strangely for a moment. "Sirius Black? Yes. He was a friend of your father. He is your Godfather. Why?"

"You knew him?" Harry was incredulous.

"I just told you that I hated what Lily become. I didn't hate her. She was my younger sister, I could never hate her. I knew some of your parent's magical friends. I can't say I liked them very much. Black was responsible for their deaths you know."

Harry looked at his Aunt stunned. She knew much more than he thought. "No, it wasn't him. It was Peter Pettigrew that betrayed them."

"Peter Pettigrew, I don't believe it. He would never have been made their Secret Keeper. Black was their Secret Keeper."

Harry shook his head. "No, Peter convinced Sirius that it would be safer if he was the Secret Keeper. He would never be suspected. All the time he was working for -." Harry stopped suddenly, not sure how to continue.

"Voldemort?"

Harry's eyes widened and he nodded. "Yes. Everything that happened after that was Peter's fault. He framed Sirius for everything."

"Are you sure Harry?"

"Yes, but it doesn't matter now, it's over. He's dead. He," Harry was shaken by huge sobs that made speaking difficult, but he struggled to continue while he had a chance. "He fell through the veil. It is my fault. I didn't listen to him or anyone else. Voldemort made me think he was in danger, and I tried to save him, but it was really just a trick to lure me away from Hogwarts, then Sirius came to save me but he was lost." Harry dropped his head in his hands and cried bitter tears of loss. His life was empty. Even if his Aunt was now willing to listen, it wasn't the same as having Sirius. He was a wizard, he understood. He had known his parents when they were growing up. Nothing could make up for that.

Aunt Petunia put her arm stiffly around him again. "Stop crying, I know what it is like to lose something dear, crying doesn't help. Over time you will feel better."

Harry didn't believe that. He would never feel better, but he thought he should make the most of this opportunity to speak freely, to find out as much as he could about his parents. "What were they like?"

Aunt Petunia answered somewhat curtly. "They were very much the same, but also very different." She stood quickly. "I want you to go to sleep now if you can. It is late, and your Uncle isn't going to be happy in the morning. Do try to be quiet."

She moved away, and closed the door behind her, leaving Harry to his thoughts, the main one being that his Aunt had suddenly seemed quite distracted by something. He wondered what it was, but his exhausted body fell quickly into sleep.

*

Harry made his way down the stairs to the kitchen, knowing only too well that he was late. He could smell the bacon cooking already. He was going to be in huge trouble. He opened the door and moved quietly into the kitchen. He looked at his Aunt who was at the stove cooking breakfast. "Sorry."

She smiled for the briefest moment, before her face turned back into its normal drawn expression. "Make sure you don't do it again." She snapped.

Uncle Vernon put his paper down. "Yes boy! I don't know what you are thinking, but you WILL NOT get away with this sort of behaviour, regardless of the threats your freak friends made at the railway station. Don't forget that while you live under my roof you live under my rules."

"Yes Sir. I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

"Good. See that it doesn't." Vernon returned his attention to the morning newspaper.

Dudley sneered at him from across the table. 

The bully was somewhat frightened by him now, particularly after he had had a first hand encounter with Dementors, and had seen them forced back by his magical powers, but the obese bully still made the most of any opportunity to punish him. He knew perfectly well now, that Harry wasn't allowed to use magic outside of school time unless it was to protect himself from magical danger, and Dudley knew full well that torment from his cousin was hardly magical danger. He mouthed the words "Just you wait Potter." Then looked away. "Where is my breakfast?"

"Now Duddles, it's cooking as fast as it can. Do try to be patient." Aunt Petunia answered sweetly.

"I am starving."

Harry seriously doubted that. He almost laughed at the thought.

"What are you smirking at Potter?"

"Nothing." Harry answered quickly. He winced as Dudley kicked him under the table.

"I hope not."

"Boys, stop bickering. It is getting on my nerves."

"Petunia! Dudley was just defending himself."

Aunt Petunia's eyes flashed something Harry recognised as anger. It was normally directed at him, this time it was directed at her husband. "Yes dear." She answered mildly.

An owl appeared on the windowsill over the sink and Aunt Petunia reached over to open the window.

"I SAID NO OWLS!" Vernon roared furiously in protest.

"Oh Vernon, do be quiet for once." Aunt Petunia answered quietly. She opened the window and the bird flew in on muffled wings, and dropped an envelope on the table in front of Harry. Dudley grabbed for it, but Harry was quicker. He thought he saw his Aunt smile. His Uncle looked as though he was about to have an apoplectic fit.

With shaking hands, Harry opened the envelope. He already knew it was his results, and he had a fair idea of which subjects he had done well in and which he had done badly in. Quickly scanning down his list of subjects, he was pleased to find that he had received Exceeds Expectations or Outstanding in most of his subjects. Although he had expected it, he was disappointed by his results in two of his subjects – Potions, he had received an Acceptable, which would mean that he wouldn't be allowed into Advanced Potions when he started his new year, and Defence Against the Dark Arts, Umbridge had clearly used what remained of her power at the Ministry to ensure he only received an Acceptable there too. He knew he should have done better – after all, he had produced a Patronus for extra credit. The poor result had to be her doing, even though the exams were supposed to be marked by an independent board of experts. 

Harry sighed, disappointed. He wasn't really sure he wanted to be an Auror, although if he had to fight evil anyway, he figured he might as well be, but he didn't have any other ideas about what he wanted to do either. Perhaps he wouldn't even live that long enough. The prophecy didn't say he would survive when he faced Voldemort, he had been lucky on more than one occasion – could his luck continue to hold?

Reading his results again, Harry couldn't help feeling a little annoyed. He had to admit that Potions wasn't one of his strongest subjects, but he didn't really have a chance. Even if Snape wasn't responsible for setting and correcting the O.W.L. Exams, Harry could hardly expect to learn when Snape hated him so much, and showed such favouritism to the Slytherin students. Umbridge, too, had been a failure as a teacher. Books could never teach Defence the way he needed to learn it. Theory was great until you faced Voldemort in the flesh. He simply didn't play by the rules. 

He was about to excuse himself from the table so he could be alone to consider what he would do now, when another owl arrived. Vernon gripped the newspaper tighter, his knuckles going white, but it was clear he had no intention of acknowledging the bird's arrival in any other way. Dudley looked like he wanted to eat the owl, given the fact he still hadn't been given his breakfast, Aunt Petunia simply continued to give her attention to preparing breakfast, although Harry thought she was watching him more carefully than normal.

The bird dropped its envelope and departed before it could become breakfast. Harry picked up the letter, opening it curiously. It was in Dumbledore's handwriting. He almost cast it aside, not really caring what the Headmaster had to say. He still hadn't forgiven him for his desertion the previous year, but then he thought better of it. Scanning it quickly, a smile rose to his lips.

"Dear Harry, 

You have just received your O.W.L. results. Of course, two of the results are somewhat disappointing. I am just writing to tell you that your results in the Potions OWL and the Defence Against Dark Arts OWL are currently being reviewed and reconsidered. It is likely that they will be adjusted upwards, given the extraordinary difficulties that you faced during the exam period in particular.

Kind regards

Albus Dumbledore

Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Aunt Petunia put a plate in front of him. He was astounded to find himself being served two slices of bacon, two eggs, and two pieces of toast, sausages and baked beans. He looked at the plate full of food… normally he had to make do with a piece of toast. Aunt Petunia smiled "Eat up Harry," she encouraged, nodding slightly.

Harry smiled in return, but his Aunt had already turned her attention to Dudley, who was complaining because HE had to make do with toast. "Now Duddles, we can't have you turning into a little pudding can we?"

Harry almost snorted food all over the table, but he managed to contain the fit of laughter that had nearly caused the disaster. Little pudding! How about large, upsized pudding and would you like a serve of fries with that? That would be more appropriate. He didn't comment though. Whatever piece of good fortune had seen such a vast improvement in his treatment, he didn't want to risk damaging it. As he devoured the food, he decided that he could get used to this new, improved Aunt Petunia. He wondered how long it would last.

For the first time he could remember, he felt almost happy at the Dursleys, and for the briefest of moments, the pain of loss he felt because of Sirius' death left his thoughts. It didn't last long though. Before he finished his breakfast, the memories flooded back, darkening his mood again and throwing him back into the depression that had hung over him like a shroud since that night at the Department of Mysteries. 

*

Harry rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. His shoulder still hurt from spending the morning painting the fence again. "If you had done it properly in the first place, you wouldn't have to repeat it." His Uncle's words still rang in his ears, and he could still feel the pain of the slap he had received for his shoddy work. And if it hadn't been raining ever so slightly, he WOULD have done it properly in the first place!

There was a sharp knock on the door. "Come in," he Mumbled, wondering what his Uncle wanted this time. He was surprised when his Aunt walked in.

"Would you like some orange juice?" She reached out, offering him a glass of cool orange liquid.

Harry nodded and took the glass. "Thank you. For everything. You have been so kind this summer, I don't know how to thank you."

Aunt Petunia's face wore a look that Harry didn't recognise. She nodded. "I am sorry… for before."

"Thanks."

Aunt Petunia turned to leave, but paused before opening the door. "Dudley has a father and son weekend at Smeltings next weekend. If you like, you could invite your friends over to stay. They would have to behave."

Harry nearly fell off the bed. "Are you serious?" His heart raced, could she really be inviting Ron and Hermione to STAY, in this house?

"Yes Harry. As reluctant as I am to acknowledge your abilities, I would like to at least meet your friends once under reasonable circumstances. I am sure they can't be too bad. The girl is similar to your Mother isn't she, not pureblood." 

It freaked Harry out, realising how much his Aunt knew about the magical world. He could only imagine it was from his Mother. Of course they were sisters, they would have spent hours talking when she had returned for summer. "Yes, that is Hermione, her parents are orthodontists. Ron is a pureblood wizard, but he isn't uptight like some of them."

"As long as he isn't a prat like your father, that will be fine."

"Please don't say that about my father."

"I'm sorry Harry, but it is true. He was a fool who acted before he thought about the consequences of his actions in most cases. It cost me dearly."

Harry looked down at the empty glass. "I'm sorry." He had lost parents he never knew, now he had lost Sirius, the closest thing he had to a brother except for Ron. For the first time he understood his Aunt's pain.

"So am I… Your Uncle and cousin are going out this afternoon, perhaps you could send your owl then."

Harry nodded, Hedwig would be glad of the opportunity to get out, she hated being caged all the time, but Harry was scared of what would happen to her if he let her out when Uncle Vernon and Dudley were around. "Thank you."

Aunt Petunia opened the door. "Just make sure I don't regret this Harry." She was out the door and gone before he could respond.

*

Harry released Hedgwig and watched as she flew off into the afternoon sky. He had told her to stay with Ron after delivering his letter. He could return hers when he came. Harry would miss the snowy owl, but it would only be for a few days, and she deserved a bit of freedom. At least at Ron's place, she wasn't caged all the time.

He sighed and turned from the window. Remembering some chores he had left unfinished, he moved quickly downstairs. It wouldn't be a good idea to be too slack, even if Aunt Petunia was being so much more reasonable. He still had Dudley and Uncle Vernon to worry about, and he didn't want to get Aunt Petunia into trouble, not when she was being so much kinder.

He sighed as he trimmed the edges of the lawn; everything seemed so confusing sometimes. All he really knew for sure was that he couldn't wait until the weekend.


	5. Eight Steps to the Veil

Chapter 5 – Eight Steps to the Veil

Hi Everyone,

Thanks for the reviews. I am really glad you are still hanging in there with me and I apologise again for all the waiting. I vowed when I started Snape's Saviour that I wouldn't post another story unless it was finished, but as you can see I couldn't contain myself, so bare with me… this will be finished eventually, and I will try to update at least weekly but I can not promise this.

Another apology is in order… I have to apologise for the errors in the last chapter. The results Harry received probably deviated heaps from cannon. Unfortunately I don't have the books with me so I can't check. Just substitute the ideas there for the appropriate results. Thanks for being understanding on this.

I am glad you enjoyed my slightly adjusted Petunia. Of course, there may be absolutely no basis for this, but the first few chapters of OOP just struck me as being amazing. I ran around my lounge room like a raving lunatic when Petunia showed how much she understood. I certainly don't like her that much; Snape and Remus are my favourite characters, but I kind of feel that Petunia could easily be hiding more understanding than she is willing to show. Dudley and Vernon are going to remain bullies, but their role in this fic is probably going to be limited to what you have seen to this point.

Anyway, that is it. I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and that the New Year brings you joy and happiness.

Take care and please enjoy this.

Read and review if you so desire.

Karren.

***

Hermione closed her notebook, reading it gave her the chills. Sirius had been at step 8. Harry had seen it. She wasn't sure if she should tell Harry what she had read, it would only stir up more pain for him, but he had asked, and she couldn't deny him the information. She had spent the week researching what she could of the veil, and now she wasn't sure if Harry was ready for what she was going to tell him. 

She sighed; she HAD to tell him, everyone else seemed too busy to tell him, or didn't care to. She grabbed her notebook and ran down the stairs. She was excited by the prospect of visiting Harry at home, but she wasn't sure how he would be. It was clear from his letter that Sirius' loss was still hurting him deeply, not that that was a surprise, they really only had such a short time together. It wasn't fair.

Her parents were waiting at the car. It was still early, but they had agreed to pick up Ron on their way. Hermione hoped that it would be easier if Ron turned up in a conventional muggle manner rather than by some magical method. If things really were improving for Harry at home, at least a little, she didn't think it would be right to risk damaging it by having Ron turn up via the floo, or worse. 

She remembered the stories she had been told about that time they had arrived to take Harry to the Quidditch world cup. At the time, she had found it a little amusing, but she had also been indignant at the way the Dursleys had treated Ron's family. It wasn't their fault they didn't understand muggles, on the other hand it wasn't really the Dursley's fault they didn't understand Magic. At least Ron's family made an effort though; it was more than could be said for Harry's.

She sighed as she put her seatbelt on. She only hoped that Harry was right about his Aunt. She wasn't sure that things would go smoothly, but SHE would at least try.

***

Ron smiled and ran to the car, a small suitcase in one hand and a small bag in another. Hedgwig was sitting on his shoulder and Pigwidgeon was flying noisily around his head. Hermione hoped the smaller bag didn't contain any of the Weasley twins' practical jokes. Ton tongue toffee would definitely be unpopular. She didn't think that would ingratiate them with Harry's Aunt.

Mr Weasly moved quickly towards their car. He looked at it in awe. She almost laughed when he touched it with a finger as if testing to see if it was really there. Her smile grew bigger when he ran his hand over it. "Oh, how wonderful. You really are so lucky Ron. You will have to tell me all about it. What is that?" He pointed at something Hermione couldn't see from her seat behind her mother."

"The key." Her father answered, as if explaining to a child. He didn't mean it like that, but he knew how excited Mr Weasley was by Muggle "artefacts".

"Oh, how lovely."

Ron opened the door and climbed in, rolling his eyes at Hermione.

"I am sure we could arrange for you to have a ride dad."

"Really?" Mr Weasley looked at Hermione's father hopefully.

"Oh, yes, of course."

Hermione nearly burst into a fit of laughter. There was something about wanting the things you couldn't have. All she wanted sometimes was to be able to share her magic with her parents. All Ron's father wanted was to live as a muggle for a week. He would learn.

Ron put his case in the boot. Mr Weasley had laughed with delight when Hermione's father had allowed him to press the remote release button. Ron gave his dad a hug and climbed into the car, and Hermione helped him with the seatbelt while his father watched in rapt attention.

Hermione's father was about to start the car; she could just imagine Mr Weasley's reaction to that, when he stuck his head in the window. "Now, Ron, make sure you behave. This is a big step for Harry's Aunt. I don't want you to spoil it."

Ron looked at his father. "No dad. I won't do anything stupid."

Mr Weasley nodded, then watched as the car was started. He waved as they drove off, a smile plastered on his face. He had seen a real muggle car!

***

Harry waited anxiously by the window, watching the street below. Hermione and Ron were going to arrive soon. He couldn't wait. He couldn't believe it either. Suddenly life didn't seem that bad, except for Sirius being dead. He sighed, wondering if the pain would ever go away.

He looked at a photo of Sirius with his parents, and when he turned back to the window, he saw a car turn the corner into Privet drive. He leapt up – they had arrived!

The doorbell rang, and he heard the sound of his Aunt moving to answer it. He reached the top of the stairs and saw his friends standing just inside the door. "Harry!" Hermione ran up the stairs and gave him a hug. "How are you?" She held him at arms length and looked at him closely. "Are you alright?"

"I am now." He drew her back into a hug. "I miss him," he whispered to her. 

He felt her squeeze him a little tighter. "I know."

"Oi, you two. Do you mind cutting that out?" Ron climbed the stairs two at a time and grabbed Harry in a bear hug too. "How's it going Mate?"

"Great." For some reason Harry felt uncomfortable talking to Ron about Sirius. He had no idea why. After all, it was Hermione who had spent most of her time saying he should keep away because it was dangerous. Now it just seemed natural to tell her how he felt. Perhaps it was just a guy thing.

Aunt Petunia poked her head out of the kitchen. "Go to your room Harry, I will bring up some refreshments."

"Thanks."

The three made their way to Harry's room. He was glad he was free from the closet under the stairs; they wouldn't have all fit there, not now. It seemed that they had all grown in the three weeks since they had seen each other last. Harry couldn't believe it.

Aunt Petunia brought up a tray of drinks and sandwiches then closed the door behind her, hoping she hadn't made a huge mistake. The girl seemed fine, but the boy, she wasn't so sure about him. It was clear he was pureblood - she could feel it.

Harry swallowed. There was a lump in his throat he couldn't clear. He wanted desperately to ask Hermione what she had found out about the veil, but he didn't want to depress everyone. It was bad enough that he couldn't shake his own depression – he didn't want Ron and Hermione to be depressed too. The only problem was he had to know.

"Hermione," he started, uncomfortably.

Hermione looked up at him, and knew what he wanted to say, it was clearly written all over his face. "The veil?"

Harry nodded, unable to speak.

Hermione sighed. "Ok, are you sure?"

"Yes." Harry answered quietly.

"Alright." Hermione emptied her glass of orange juice. "I did some research as you asked. No one seems to know when the veil first came into being, but it is clear that it has been around a long time. It seems it is some kind of door into the dimension of the dead. It is kind of freaky really. Do you know the nursery rhyme about the plague?"

"Yeah, Ring a Ring of Roses."

Hermione nodded. "Well there is one for the veil too. I wrote it down." She passed Harry a piece of paper. "From what I have been able to learn, there are two ways of passing through the veil, they call them the sprint or the marathon, but there are eight steps either way."

Harry nodded. He read the paper quickly, then read it out loud. It sent chills down his spine.

"Towards the Veil

Step one, no damage done

Step two, a nurse will do

Step three, eventually free

Step four, knock on death's door

Step five, lucky to be alive

Step six, hard to fix

Step seven, on your way to Heaven 

Step eight, it's too late"

"That's creepy." Ron looked at his friend, he was pale. "Are you ok?"

"Yes." Harry's answer was quiet. Ron and Hermione both knew he was lying.

"I found this in a medical book. It explains the steps in a more technical way." Hermione looked at Harry. He looked like he was about to cry. "Perhaps you should read it tomorrow?"

"No. I want to know now. I realise now how important it is to not put things off."

Hermione nodded. She was about to hand Harry the paper, but when she saw his hands shaking she changed her mind and decided to read it aloud herself. "This is from Primary Medical Care of the Wizarding Community by Althea Hippocrates. I wrote to Miss Prince and asked her to send me a copy from the library.

"Upon death, a member of the magical community will generally pass through the Veil of Death into the Dimension of the Dead where they can, under certain circumstances, communicate with those that are left behind. Only in rare circumstances do the dead go on to become non-corpuscular life forms (GHOSTS – see glossary).

"The Shelford Scale of Wizarding Death came into being in the 1600's as a standardised way of staging Wizard Death, however it was only accepted by mainstream Mediwizards and Mediwitches at the start of the 20th Century.

"Steps 1 – 3 generally cover normal, non-magical illness or injury, including minor magical injury. Outcomes for patients at these levels are generally good. Steps 4 – 8 normally result from serious and often intentional magical injury. Recovery is often delayed in these patients, and may not occur at all except under the most providential circumstances.

  1        Insignificant injury or illness, no magical intervention required, often self-limiting

2 More serious injury or illness, medical attention required for quick recovery, potions or charms may be used.

3 Serious injury or illness, medical attention required for quick recovery, potions or charms must be used

4 Serious injury or illness, hospitalisation required, potions or charms must be used, patient will recover in a timely fashion if treated appropriately

5 Serious injury or illness, hospitalisation and significant medical and or magical intervention required, potions and charms required, patient likely to recover after extended period

6 Critically unwell patient, extensive long term medical and or magical intervention required, potions and charms required, patient may recover 

7 Patient significantly injured or seriously ill, generally no intervention will produce a successful outcome, gifted healers may produce successful results by using own life-force, but patient recovery requires significant healer input which is often costly to healer. Patient invariably dies, as few healers of appropriate abilities exist in any generation.

8 Patient often victim of unforgivable curse (Adavra Kedavra). Death is often immediate. No amount of intervention will do more than briefly return or extend patient life."

"Sirius sprinted straight to step eight then." Harry said quietly, his voice shaking.

"Yes, and he passed beyond the veil directly."

"It's not fair."

"Oh, Harry." Hermione dragged him into a hug. "I am sorry. It isn't fair."

Ron moved to them and put his arm around Harry too. "It's ok to be sad mate."

They both felt their friend begin to shake as his body was rocked by sobs. The waited and held him, not wanting to let him go. They wished they could do more, but there was nothing that anyone could do. 

***

Irina sat quietly, considering her options. It was clear that Snape was reluctant to have her around, and that was understandable. Her foolish reaction to that mask's appearance had spoiled any chance she had of an easy integration into his routine, if there had ever been a chance. She couldn't believe her reaction; after all, she had known where he had been. It had been an unfortunate mistake, but it was over. Now all she could do was work even harder for acceptance. She decided that the best approach would be a direct one. Snape wasn't a fool, he would see through any indirect approach before she had made the first step. 

Decision made, she stood and reached for her school wand, ebony and dragon heartstring, 13 inches. Her star sapphire wand, an ancient relic that helped her produce her most powerful magic, was still concealed within her robes for emergencies, the dark wood wand was purely for show. It would alleviate his fear and make her less of a threat. 

The sapphire wand dated back to Merlin's time, there was some conjecture that it had belonged to the great wizard himself, but that was unconfirmed, however even carrying such a tool would cause a stir in the insular English school. It never worried her Russian counterparts, but then that was an entirely different world, and she was Tsarina.

Arriving in the dungeons, her first port of call was his classroom, it would be far better to approach him there than to attack him initially in his chambers. He might be a little less defensive.

She found him there, bent over a cauldron, a look of intense concentration on his face. She cleared her throat, trying to gain his attention without startling him. He didn't acknowledge her presence, so she waited a little, watching him brew with rapt attention. This, she reflected, was where he truly excelled.

Of all the things he did, both good and bad, Potions, both brewing and creating, were the things where he was clearly the most comfortable. It surprised her, given his general lack of patience. Perhaps he used his measure of patience when he brewed, rather than saving it for when he was forced to teach. Teaching really wasn't in his nature; it didn't surprise her that he struggled with it.

Irina moved closer. She was about to ask what he was brewing, suspecting it might be Wolfsbane for Remus, when he spoke. "I am sure Albus was quite entertained when you told him you found me half dead in the forest." His voice was quiet and dangerous. He was clearly unhappy with the intrusion.

"I beg your pardon."

"I am sure Albus was quite amused to hear of the state you found me in. Did you enjoy telling him that I needed your help?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." He snapped, adding a pinch of nettle to the cauldron.

"I am sure I do not."

Snape looked up. "Oh, come on woman. We both know you told him you found me half dead in the forest. I am just wondering what his reaction to that information was." He looked at her briefly, and noticed sadness in her eyes. It surprised him. He looked away quickly, returning his attention to the potion he was brewing. The last thing he needed was to see those eyes look at him sadly.

As he continued to stir the potion, he wondered why she had looked so hurt. Her blue eyes had filled quickly with sadness at his accusation, and he was reminded of another from a past long gone. For the briefest moment he felt almost sorry for his words, then he remembered her reaction in the forest and that feeling disappeared. He didn't want some emotional woman interfering in his life. If her skin wasn't tougher than that she could bugger off, and making her go would be relatively easy. In fact, he decided, with appropriate behaviour on his part she wouldn't last a week. The thought made him smile.  Goodbye and good riddance too.

"I do not understand what you mean."

Snape quirked an eyebrow. "And I thought you were supposed to be clever. It seems as though I was misled."

Irina's hurt quickly turned to anger now, she was offended at what he was suggesting. "You think I told him?"

"Of course you told him. That IS what you are here for isn't it…. To spy on me?"

"No. I am here simply to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts. As my teaching is too advanced for all but the senior students I have very few classes. I asked if there was any other area where I might be able to assist and the Headmaster suggested that you might be willing to accept me as an assistant. I am qualified as a Potions Mistress, but I have little opportunity to use my skills in Russia. I thought it would be a wonderful opportunity to work with you and learn from a Master. I was grateful for the opportunity to work with you, but now I am not so sure. I am offended by the suggestion that I would be here for any other reason."

"Good, be offended. Just don't BE in my class. I am not interested in having an assistant. He was incorrect when he assumed I would be willing to accept you in that position. I have no need of an assistant."

"I do not see that you have a choice." Irina's voice was quiet. 

In time he would learn that that was a dangerous sign, but for the moment he continued unchecked. "Of course I have a choice. I will make it impossible for you if you dare step foot in my classroom again. Now get out. I am too busy to deal with you. The werewolf needs this in less than 20 days, and there is barely enough time as it is."

Snape's dismissive manner got to Irina, regardless of the fact that she was trying to control herself. "I am Tsarina, and you will not talk to me like that. I will not accept it." Her words were still quiet, but now there was an angry edge to them. 

"Fine. Then I will not talk to you at all." Snape turned his attention back to the bubbling cauldron.

Irina realised that he meant what he had said. He would not say another word. Anger boiling up and threatening to pour out of her, she moved quickly to the door, hoping to escape him before she said or did something that they would both regret. 

Pausing briefly before opening the heavy wooden door, wondering just how he had managed to make her so angry so quickly, yet already knowing the answer well, she spoke quietly. "Fine. I shall leave you to brew. There is just one small thing you should know Professor Snape, just a small clarification that I think is important. You were seven eighths dead, not half dead." 

Opening the door, she turned and left before Snape had a chance to respond. He was left looking at where she had stood, shaken, knowing only too well what her quiet words had meant – she had given up part of her own life to save him, and for a brief moment he felt almost like he mattered. That thought was quickly chased out of his mind though, by the memory of what had happened after. He wondered what she expected him to do with that information? Be grateful for disrupting a perfectly good death and returning him to his farcical life perhaps? Well she could go to hell! He would never be grateful for her "gift" of life.


	6. Portent of Doom

**Chapter 7 – Portent of Doom**

****

Author's Note: Sorry about the delay in getting this up. I am not particularly happy with it and I have bee enjoying my holidays too much to concentrate on writing. I also had a problem with FF.net who removed all my authors' notes from Snape's Saviour and Generations of Deceit and cancelled my posting rights.

Anyway, here is the next chapter. Hope you like it. Please read and review.

****

There will be another chapter next week.

*

Harry stood, transfixed by the scene before him. It was the moment he had spent his life preparing for – he was finally about to face Voldemort. He could see the snake like man sitting, attended by his loyal servants. The flickering flames of the torchlight throwing shadows and light around as air moved in the large cavern. So this is where they gathered. Harry briefly wondered if Snape was amongst the group. What would he do when he realised that he had arrived, that the time had come for the final showdown? Maybe.

Harry briefly considered turning and leaving. He knew, deep inside, that he wasn't ready to face Voldemort, and that he shouldn't be there, but something had drawn him from the safety of Hogwarts, and he had left, quietly and stealthily, not telling anyone. He wondered how long it would take for anyone to realise he was gone, and if they would be able to figure out where he had gone and what he was doing. More than that though, he hoped he was ready. If he failed, it would be a disaster, but something had drawn him from sleep to this place, and who was he to argue.

He was about to move forward when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "What the hell are you doing here Potter?" Snape's voice hissed, annoyed. 

Well, Harry thought, at least that was the answer to one question. "Something drew me here." Harry answered nervously.

Harry turned and was faced with his most hated Professor in full Death Eater regalia. He was wearing his normal black robes, but under the hood of his cloak, Harry saw the pearly white of a Death Eater's mask. He gasped. So this was Snape the Death Eater, this was Snape the spy – Harry realised almost involuntarily that this was Snape the quiet hero too. He didn't enjoy the thought that Snape was a hero, how could such a loathsome being be a hero, but right now, faced with what he really was, what he really had to survive each time he attended his "master", Harry realised how close to death the line the Potions Master walked came.

For the first time the smallest amount of respect grew in him – it was the first time he had considered it from the point of view of one involved. Watching the milling, dark clad figures, all wearing similar pearly masks except for the master, Harry finally realised that Snape risked everything each time he attended, and the dark haired, intractable man rose slightly in his esteem.

Snape snorted. "Probably Voldemort. I told you that you needed more practice at Occlumency." Harry felt Snape thrust something small and round into his hand. "This is a port key that will take you straight to Dumbledore's office. Use it."

Harry felt anger at the man's words – he always underestimated him and his abilities. So far he had always been wrong. Harry wondered briefly if this was the time that the Potions Master and spy was to be right. "No. I need to do this." Harry replied defiantly, trying to chase the uncertainty from his mind.

"You aren't ready."

Harry had no answer for him – he might have been right. "I have to be."

Snape contemplated the defiant boy and saw something in his eyes that he had never seen before. He wasn't sure it would be enough, but if the time had come he would do what he had to to ensure his success. Snape wondered briefly if Dumbledore knew of the boy's foolish quest, and doubted it – Potter had always been too quick to jump in, and too slow to learn from his mistakes or listen to those that knew better. 

"Then at least make sure you are ready to use the port key. You will know when." He hoped the boy would at least listen to that piece of advice. It was probably the last he would have a chance to give. He thought quickly of Belatrix laying dead just outside the cavern, and knew only too well that THAT would seal his own death sentence. HE wouldn't live through this meeting, regardless of whether his job was complete, and regardless of whether the boy before him did.

Harry nodded. He wondered how he would know, but for the first time in his life he felt compelled to trust Snape. He really had little choice. Besides, for the first time in his life he felt he COULD trust Snape. There was something in his eyes, the only feature of the man that could be seen behind that mask, which said he knew how important this moment was, and that it would have deep ramifications. Harry knew that he was telling him what he needed to know.

Harry jumped as another voice came from behind him. "Ah, Severus, what do we have here." Malfoy! 

Harry felt Snape stiffen and his hand tightened on Harry's shoulder. "Lucius, Potter has decided to join us. I was just brining him to our Master."

Lucius looked delighted. "Excellent, then this night will be more interesting than I thought. Let's go."

Snape pushed Harry forward, past the arrogant blonde haired Death Eater – his arrogance plainly indicated by the fact that while his face was hidden by his own pearly white death eater mask, his long silver blonde hair hung down below his robes. There was only one wizard with hair like that. 

Harry thought Snape was pushing him a little harder than was really necessary, but he at least had to seem loyal. Reaching the chair the Dark Lord sat upon, Snape forced Harry to the ground. "My Lord, I have brought Potter to you. I found him at the entrance to the cave."

Snape lied to Voldemort! Harry wondered if the Master would see through the Potions Masters deception, but doubted it. He had managed to hide his position as a spy for nearly 17 years. Surely Voldemort wouldn't see through such a little lie.

"So I see Severus. What a pleasant surprise." Voldemort sniffed as he contemplated the boy and the man before him. "And to think I was beginning to doubt you."

Harry stiffened. Voldemort knew about Snape! Snape didn't seem to react at all though. For the first time ever, Harry found himself respecting the dark and difficult man. His life was in danger, but he didn't even blink at the threat.

"Master, forgive me if I have seemed less than loyal to you. You are my only Master and I follow only you. From the moment you saved me from the Muggle lovers and Mudbloods, I have followed none but you, and wish to follow none but you."

"Perhaps Severus, perhaps. We shall see." Voldemort turned his attention to Harry. "Well, Harry Potter, to what do I owe the pleasure."

"I've come to kill you." Harry said defiantly from the ground.

Voldemort laughed, it was a cold sound. "We shall see about that then shan't we?"

"Oh, I will kill you and all your death eaters. I promise you." Harry answered with more confidence than he felt.

"Such confidence!" Voldemort contemplated the dark haired boy. "Perhaps you should get in some practice before you take me on, perhaps you should first try to kill just one of my Death Eaters. Ah, but who?" Voldemort looked at the Potions Master. If he was indeed loyal, the boy would die. If he wasn't, they would both die. Problem solved. The Dark Lord looked around with a growing smile on his face. "Yes, indeed, I know who – Severus!" Voldemort barked, "if you are truly loyal, I want you to face the boy in a duel and kill him. I have no doubt you will succeed if you are as loyal as you say." 

Voldemort was pleased with himself. If Snape faced the boy and killed him, the boy would be dead. It would be so much neater than if he had to face the boy himself. He still remembered their first real meeting after the Triwizard tournament, when their twin wands had collaborated to save the boy. This way it wouldn't happen again, unless, as he suspected, his servant was betraying him after all. Foolish boy! For his sake, Voldemort hoped he wasn't being disloyal. He waited for the dark haired man to respond.

Snape swallowed. This was the end. "Yes, My Lord." He looked at Potter on the ground before Voldemort. Even now, the boy wasn't cowed. Foolish Gryffindor! Gods, this was the end, and he didn't even realise it. Snape hoped that the boy would have the sense to use the port key, but he doubted that he would. Too foolish, too brave and too proud to run when fleeing was the best option, the boy that lived now needed to be the boy that killed or he wouldn't live again. Everything Snape had worked for for almost his entire life was about to go down the drain, but at least he wouldn't be alive to see it, at least he HOPED he wouldn't be alive to see it. If he was, then all was truly lost.

He moved forward and dragged Harry roughly to his feet. "Draw your wand Potter." He barked, voice rough, eyes cold and hard.

Harry looked at him and knew he was going to die at Snape's hand. Damn him! He had been betraying Dumbledore the whole time! Now he understood how Voldemort had managed to always be a few steps ahead of them. Snape was spying for him!

"Draw your wand Potter, don't make me tell you again," he snarled.

Harry reached for his wand, aware of the small round object that was still in his hand. Was now the time? He decided that if he had to ask, it probably wasn't. Besides, Snape had probably lied about where it would take him. No, he wouldn't use it. Hatred for the man welled up in him.

He looked at Snape, standing before him with his own wand drawn and pointing at Harry's chest. Harry swallowed – he was about to die. Even if Snape had betrayed Dumbledore, he knew he would never be able to cast the killing curse at him. That would give Snape a free shot.

Harry took a deep breath.

_Kill me Potter._

Harry nearly choked. Snape's lips hadn't moved, but he had heard his voice.

_Pay attention! You have to kill me._

_What?_

_You have to kill me Potter or they will, and I can assure you that I would prefer to be killed by you using the killing curse than by them using any method they would dream up._

_But-_

_Potter, we don't have time for this. If you don't kill me, I will have to kill you, which is not something I am willing to do, it is not something that I will do. The alternative is that we both end up dead. I betrayed them, and they know it. I killed Belatrix so you wouldn't need to and they will find out soon. Kill me or your chance to escape will be lost. For once just do as you are told._

Harry looked at Snape. His eyes were filled with hatred, but his words, the words that were in his head were sad, his voice broken, it was as though the man's spirit was finally destroyed and he had no fight left in him. Almost imperceptibly he nodded at Harry and Harry knew the truth – this was the only way for him to escape, and Snape was willing to die to give him that freedom. Harry contemplated the man before him, clad as he was in death eater robes. He had killed a death eater to revenge Sirius! He had hated him, yet he had risked everything to kill the one responsible for his death. Harry couldn't kill him.

_But Professor…_

Snape returned Harry's look with cold contemplation, knowing the boy, while brave, didn't have it in him to kill him, no matter how much he hated him. There was only one thing left that he could do, but saying the words would break his heart because they were untrue and speaking ill of that dead person was the last thing he ever wanted to do. Snape almost laughed – if he was lucky it would be the last thing he ever did.

_Potter, your mother was a whore._

Hatred welled up in Harry. How dare he? How dare he! Damn him! The words rang in Harry's ears and anger flowed into his heart.

_I HATE YOU!_

_Good, then do as I said._

The words were quiet and insistent, not bitter and hate filled. Harry realised that Snape was gone from his mind, just as he realised that he could and would kill him.

Voldemort chuckled; this would be fun. He watched as the boy who lived faced one of his Professors. He knew the boy wouldn't have it in him to kill Snape, even if he did hate him. Potter might have been brave and courageous, but he was far too honourable to kill one of his Professors, regardless of personal feelings. The boy would never win. The biggest problem though was that he wondered about Snape's ability to kill the boy. There had been certain indications that the Potions Master's loyalty might have been wavering recently. Not that it mattered. They would both be dead before the end of the evening's activities, then his desire to take power would be unhindered.

Harry raised his wand and pointed it at his chest. "I'm ready."

Snape nodded. "About time."

Voldemort smiled. "Well then, on my count. One, two, three. Duel!"

Harry took a deep breath. He had to cast the Killing Curse. It was his first time and he wasn't sure he was ready and he didn't know if it would work. He opened his mouth. "Adavra Kedavra!" 

"Expelliarmus!" Snape's uttered half a second later, but it was too late, not that it would have had any effect against the Killing Curse anyway.

Harry thought his delay was deliberate, giving him just enough time to get the words out, and he was torn between sympathy for the man he had just tried to kill, and the anger that was still flowing through him at that man's words. Harry watched in shock, surprised when a green light arched from his wand and struck Snape in the chest. He watched as the Potions Master fell to the floor.

He couldn't help making comparisons to Sirius' death. It was the same slow motion fall that he had taken through the Veil. Harry wanted to cry out. Watching Snape die was no easier than it had been watching Sirius die, particularly as it was at his own hand. The feeling of loss, despair and emptiness that overwhelmed Harry surprised him. He had hated Snape, and now he wanted to die because he had killed him.

For the shortest moment, everyone watching in the cavern were frozen in surprise. The boy who lived had killed one of their own. There was confusion that stopped anyone from responding, before pandemonium broke out.

Harry stood, wand still drawn, transfixed by the sight of Snape's lifeless body on the floor before him. His eyes were open, and looking in Harry's direction, but the darkness of their depths no longer held the hatred that dwelled there before. Harry realised painfully quickly, that those eyes had never been filled with hatred for him - they will filled with hatred for himself. He wanted to be sick. He had killed a man, but worse than that, he had misjudged him too. Worse than killing him was the fact that he would never be able to apologise for that, or for hating him.

Realising he was still in danger, Harry knew that now was the time to use the port key. Squeezing it tightly in a hand that trembled, he spoke quietly and as he felt the familiar pull, he realised he had judged the Potions Master harshly. The shock of that realisation, and of what he had done thrust Harry into darkness.

Harry sat up bold upright, a cold sweat on his face, his heart thumping in his chest, his body trembling. He struggled to control his breathing. That dream had been worse than the constantly repeating dream of Sirius' death. This time it had been him doing the killing. This time he was responsible. He breathed heavily as his heart raced. He desperately wanted to control the panic before he woke Hermione and Ron.

He heard one of them stir. "Harry?" the sleepy voice asked. "Are you alright?"

Hermione. "Shh, go back to sleep. I had a dream, that's all."

Hermione sat up, her brown hair tussled, a look of sleepy confusion upon her face. "Dream?"

"Yeah, it was nothing. Lay down and go back to sleep."

Hermione blinked and rubbed her eyes, then contemplated her friend in the dim light of the room. "It wasn't nothing Harry. Was it about Sirius?"

"No, it wasn't. I will be fine. Just go back to sleep."

Hermione got out of bed and moved to him. Harry groaned. "You don't look alright."

He almost glared at her, but then he thought better of it. "I'm not."

Sitting down on Harry's bed, Hermione put her arm around his shoulders. She could feel him trembling still. His heart was still pounding and his breath was coming in short sharp gasps. "Tell me what happened."

"I killed Snape."

"What?" Hermione almost shouted.

"Shh." Harry hissed.

"Sorry."

Ron rolled over. "Hermione?"

"Go back to sleep."

Ron yawned. "What's going on?"

Harry groaned. "I had a nightmare. It's nothing, now can we all go back to sleep please?"

Ron sat up. "What sort of nightmare?"

"Harry killed Professor Snape."

"Cool." Ron said rubbing his eyes.

"Ron!"

"Huh? Oh sorry. Do you want to talk about it Harry?"

Harry shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Do I have a choice?"

"Of course."

"No then."

"Harry! How can we help if you won't tell us what is going on?"

Harry sighed. "You can't help. I dreamed I killed Snape - it freaked me out. That is it. How can you help?"

"Tell us about it." Ron encouraged.

Harry laid back, breathing still somewhat ragged. He realised he had no choice but to tell his friends of the dream. They would only sulk if he didn't, or annoy him until he did. Sighing again, he looked at them. "Ok, I will tell you what happened, but keep quiet right. I don't want to wake Aunt Petunia."

Ron and Hermione agreed, and Harry told them of his dream.

"What if it is some type of premonition?"

Hermione looked at him. "Don't be ridiculous. You can't dream the future Harry. Dreams are just bits and pieces of memories that are floating around in your head, they are just stray electrical activity. Divination is rubbish, just look at Trelawny, she has only made one prediction and she is supposed to be good at it. You just had a dream, it wasn't a prediction. It might have been scary, but it isn't going to happen, so stop worrying." 

"I don't know. It felt real."

"All dreams feel real Harry. It's because you are dreaming."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes, Harry, I do." Hermione finished seriously.

Harry looked at Ron. "What do you think Ron?"

Ron looked sympathetically at Harry. "Hermione's right mate, it was only a dream, go back to sleep."

Harry realised he would never make his friends understand how real it had felt, and it was pointless to try, so he gave up. "Yeah, maybe you're right." Harry fell back to the bed and closed his eyes. It was hours before he fell to sleep again though. Images of Snape's lifeless form stayed in his head, haunting the darkness, until the first rays of the sun started to light the eastern sky, only then did tiredness overwhelm his defences against sleep, only then did he fall into a dreamless sleep.


	7. Wolf's Bane

**Chapter 8 – Wolf's Bane**

****

Author's Note: I have to apologise to Snapefan51 who was so quick to review my posting this morning that she reviewed before I realised that I had posted the wrong chapter. Please forgive me Snapefan51, and go and read the last chapter "Portent of Doom". There is no need to read any more of this chapter, you already have! As for the new intruder you will just have to wait and see, after all Snape isn't sure yet either.

Anyway, here is the next chapter. Hope you like it. Please read and review.

I will be honest and say I don't know when the next chapter will be up, so don't hold your breath. I will try to finish it before the end of the month, but it IS Summer here and I only have two weeks of holidays left… Who really wants to spend their only time with their family writing???? Certainly not me at the moment!

*****

Snape stared, unseeing into the cauldron, lost in thought. God's, how much more would he have to put up with? The Werewolf was back – the same one that had nearly killed him and had left him permanently scarred both physically and mentally, the single event that thrust him finally towards Voldemort's "liberation". 

Worse than that though was the appearance of this woman. He didn't know how she fit into Dumbledore's little plan for the final battle, perhaps she didn't. Perhaps she truly was only there to teach Defence and annoy him. Perhaps she was just the final link in a long chain of events to send him finally, irrevocably around the bend. He didn't know and the reality was he didn't care. Life was already causing him enough difficulty without the additional worry she would provide. He knew perfectly well that hanging on in quiet desperation was the English way, and he had spent his whole life struggling to maintain a grip on himself and reality. Unfortunately, as the end approached, he realised he would not be able to hang on for very much longer, not that the idea of failure perturbed him, after the struggles he had endured it would actually be a pleasant release in whatever form it came.

He sighed heavily, and watched the shimmering colours fade and die as the last of the heat left the small cauldron of Wolfsbane, leaving a firey red, horrid tasting concoction that smelt vaguely of roses. There were a number of things about his creation that he was displeased with – the taste was the first obvious drawback, but the fact that Wolfsbane couldn't be stored, which required it to be brewed fresh every month was a significant inconvenience. 

Picking up a wooden goblet, the ingredients tended to react with other materials once the potion cooled, Snape stood quickly. Looking at the Lunar clock above and behind his desk, a constant painful but necessary reminder of his fear, he noted that he had only just managed to complete the potion in time. Tardiness annoyed him in his students and often invoked his wrath, his own worried him – it showed that he was quickly getting to the point that he could no longer concentrate or focus. He shuddered; it was a dangerous situation for a spy in his position. 

He wondered if anyone else had noticed his faltering abilities, but knew already that Dumbledore had. That would explain the strange sadness in the old man's eyes when they contemplated him over his half moon spectacles. It would also go some way towards explaining the arrival of this woman to _assist_ him. Replace him more like, he thought bitterly.

Moving quickly he left his quarters, goblet in hand and made his way carefully to Lupin's quarters. He had produced just enough Wolfsbane for a single dose, the vital ingredients were far too expensive to produce more than was necessary, so his sole goal on the journey through the cold dank halls was to arrive without spilling any of the precious potion. Heavens help any student that should get in his way. 

He stopped suddenly and cursed under his breath – there were no students, the school year was yet to begin. A feeling of tenseness that was becoming all too familiar rose in him and he watched, both horrified and disgusted as his hands began to shake again. How could he even consider trying to teach potions, particularly advanced potions, if his hands shook so badly? Perhaps Dumbledore had been right to replace him _before_ he killed a class full of students.

Trying to shake off the feeling of impending doom that seemed to follow him everywhere now, he thought briefly of how ironic it was that Wolfsbane was so costly – most of those that needed it could barely afford to survive, let alone pay for such an expensive potion. That was the third thing he hated about his most famous creation – it was too expensive to give away, and the company he had sold the rights to had ensured that it was so expensive to purchase that none but the most wealthy Werewolfs were left anything other than destitute after paying for their monthly doses.

***

Snape watched as Lupin downed the goblet of fiery red liquid. The Werewolf screwed up his face. Snape knew the potion was disgusting and almost unpalatable, he had tried a little of it himself after he had received the first protests, but try as he might he had never been able to do anything about that particular property. He had received many complaints over the years, but none from the Werewolf before him.

He thought angrily of the piles of parchments he had in his office "Please, I am grateful for your Wolfsbane, but does it have to taste so foul?" "It is so bad that transformations are almost better." "Wolfsbane is wonderful, but surely there is something you can do to improve the taste." And finally, his personal favourite – "Thanks for the Wolfsbane, but next time if you can't make it taste better, don't bother." He really liked that one.

Ungrateful bastards!

He had spent hours on the potion itself, ensuring it worked satisfactorily every time, and even more on trying to improve it, and still they complained. Not that he wanted to make it better for them – if it was so unpalatable he feared that there might be one or two who wouldn't take it. He would never admit it to anyone, but he still routinely had nightmares of the attack that night – his heart lurched painfully at the thought of them - brewing the potion would probably mean he would be subjected to their torment again. Perhaps he would forgo sleep for a couple of nights – he would almost have to overdose on dreamless sleep potion for it to have any effect. He thought fondly of the blissful release that potion could bring. If used in large enough quantities it would bring permanent release. 

He shook his head at the thought – the Headmaster would never allow such a thing – he needed him too much, although perhaps that would change as the time for battle approached. The time after the battle didn't even bare thinking about – when it was all over there would be nothing left for him, not that he expected anything but death – in fact he didn't even expect to survive long enough to see either side claim the ultimate victory.

Well, at least Wolfsbane was no longer his problem, not really anyway; he had sold the rights to the formula years ago and now it was mass-produced in large factories for sale to the public. Snape froze, horrified. He had just thought that thought less than ten minutes ago, and he had to struggle to control the rising panic that attacked him – he was clearly going mad and falling into a vortex of lost dreams and hopelessness, falling into a world inhabited only by thoughts that held such intense fear for him that he would rather tear out his own heart with his bare hands than face those gleaming golden eyes that haunted his dreams. 

Controlling his breathing with an iron will that he was grateful to still have, hoping Lupin hadn't noticed his brief moment of panic, he allowed himself the privilege of finishing the train of thought. A Werewolf who failed to take the Potion was liable to be thrown in Azkaban. He secretly believed that they should all be and he was glad that the only time he had to brew it himself now was when he had to satisfy the needs of Hogwarts 'resident' Werewolf. He glared at the man lying before him – that would be once a month every month, probably for the rest of his pathetic life; after that it would be someone else's responsibility.

The potion was so complex he wondered if he would be able to continue to manage it for much longer anyway; perhaps his assistant would be of use after all. Like everyone else, or so it seemed, he recognised that he was struggling to continue to fulfil the multiple demands on his time. Calls to his master had increased tenfold in the recent months, particularly since his failed attempt to recover the prophecy, and he knew he was loosing the ability to clear his mind fully. That was dangerous – one slip and all would be lost. One solid attack on Voldemort's part and his betrayal would no longer be a secret. Failing as he was though, he would struggle to fulfil all his commitments until he could struggle no longer. He thought wistfully of the days when brewing had held simple pleasure for him – those days were long gone. Now nothing held any pleasure for him, simple or otherwise.

He hoped death would hurry and claim him. He was tired and he no longer cared for life. He watched the sickly looking man in front of him, knowing only too well how much sympathy and support he received for his 'illness', and he hated it, because he himself received none. There was no support for Severus Snape, and no thanks for a job well done. Perhaps everyone would realise how much he did when he was finally unable to do it? He shook his head and almost laughed at the thought. That would never happen.

With the last of the Wolfsbane gone, Remus handed the goblet back to the Potions Master with a hand that shook slightly. "Severus, I –."

"What?" Snape barked, glaring at the man before him, just waiting for his words of complaint. "If you are going to complain about the taste don't bother because there is nothing I can do about it. I have enough parchment from ungrateful bastards like you that I could fill a library. I don't need your verbal affirmation that it tastes like crap."

Remus was weary, but he had started something he had to finish. He had used Wolfsbane for nearly 10 years, he knew its creator, but in all that time he had never thanked the tormented man before him. That man now stood watching him with dark eyes that seemed to see into his soul. 

Remus looked at the harried man sympathetically, endeavouring not to allow himself to rise to anger. "Severus, I was just going to say I have never thanked you for creating Wolfsbane." Remus saw the dark haired man stiffen – it was clear he was unused to receiving thanks. The thought that he had never been thanked struck Remus as being terribly sad and unfair, and he suddenly realised how cruel life had been to the Potions Master just because of one youthful mistake which he and his friends had been responsible for anyway. "It may not be the most agreeable of potions to take, as you say, but the taste is unimportant when you consider the alternatives, and anyone who says otherwise is a fool. Thank you."

Snape was dumbstruck. He had never been thanked so sincerely, not for anything. He looked at Remus and saw the weariness of the coming transformation lying heavily upon him. For the briefest moment, he almost felt sympathy for the man, before memories of his own torment rose and took over. He thought of the scars on his arm, the Dark Mark, and the others; and those on his body, carefully hidden under his layers of heavy dark robes – those the wolf were responsible for and those he was not. Was it all worth it for the thanks of one person? No was the answer that came quickly to mind.

"Don't bother thanking me, I didn't create it for your benefit. I created it to protect myself from the possibility of future attacks." Snape spat harshly.

Remus looked wearily at the man, he really didn't have the energy to match the man's anger, and so he responded with calm patience. "Severus, please try not to be so angry. I regret what happened in our youth, but I cannot undo the damage. I am just glad that James pulled you back before I had a chance to hurt you. I would never have been able to live with myself if I had actually harmed you."

"Yes, I am sure you would have hated life in Azkaban, or death! I don't know who told you I was unharmed though, but I can assure you they lied."

Remus looked up horrified and alarmed at the suggestion that he had caused the boy an injury that the man still carried. "No, you were unharmed! James pulled you back!"

"I can assure you that you did." Snape snarled dangerously, "but as my words are not proof enough for you, perhaps this will satisfy your desire for the truth." Quickly reaching down to his cuff, he undid the small buttons with deft, practiced movements and pulled the sleeve of his robes up. His stomach tightened as he saw the five thin white scars that ran across his arm – he hated being reminded of the experience and tried to avoid looking at the thin, white, innocuous lines that had sealed his fate. Of course, it was impossible not to look at them at all, but to display them in so openly was not something he was comfortable with. Even the nurse, damn her nosiness he thought darkly, had not seen the full extent of the damage that was done that night, and that was how he wished it to remain.

He thrust his arm out and watched as Remus recoiled from the sight. "There are other wounds also, but due to modesty I wish them to remain covered." He hissed dangerously.

Remus looked at Snape, horrified at what he had done. "Severus…" He spoke softly, his voice almost breaking, barely controlling the desire to cry at the damage he had inflicted. "I never knew." Inside, Remus raged. In nearly 20 years, no one had told him he had actually done the young Slytherin boy harm. It was no wonder the man that boy had become had outed him in front of the entire wizarding community. He was surprised that he hadn't let knowledge slip that he had harmed a human – that would have seen him sentenced to Azkabahn or worse, yet he had remained silent. Remus was grateful to him for that small mercy, knowing only too well mercy was something that Snape had rarely experienced in return.

Remus reached out and touched Snape's pale arm, and felt for the first time in human form, the soft skin that was marked by the scars of his attack. He was about to apologise when Snape smacked his hand away and moved from the bed. "Don't ever touch me!" There was a madness in Snape's eyes that Remus had never seen before, it was the result of fear, not anger, and Remus realised how damaged and hurt by the attack the Potions master still was. He knew he would never recover from that, and wondered how many others knew of the Potions Master's torment.

He couldn't think of any way to make things better. "I'm sorry." He apologised quietly, but the Potions Master was already storming out of the door, re-buttoning his sleeve as he went.

*

Irina watched as Snape stormed from Remus' chambers. He was buttoning the sleeve of his robes, and with a sinking heart, she realised what had happened. She knew she should follow him, she had to try and help him whether it was accepted or not, but she knew, too, how upset Remus would have been by what he had just seen. He would accept her help, and she chose quickly to deal with the Werewolf first.

Moving to the heavy wooden door, she knocked quietly. "Remus, it is Irina. May I come in?"

"I would prefer it if you didn't." His reply was subdued.

She opened the door. "Please forgive me Remus, but I feel I must."

When Remus saw that she had entered, he struggled to rise. He didn't want her to see him lying miserably on the bed as he had been, but Irina moved quickly to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Stop."

He sighed and fell back to the pillows, looking away embarrassed.

"Transformations are still difficult for you? Even with Wolfsbane?"

The slightly greying, ginger hair moved as the weary man nodded in confirmation.

"I am sorry."

"Thank you." Remus said quietly.

"I saw Severus leave accompanied by a storm cloud." She paused before continuing quietly, "I know what happened."

"You can't."

Irina's clear blue eyes looked at him. "He showed you the scars he bares upon his arm."

Remus looked at Irina, surprised. "How did you know? I only just found out myself."

Irina smiled back gently. "I know many things for many reasons." When Remus looked at her oddly, Irina explained. "The Headmaster told me of what happened when you were both younger."

Remus closed his eyes and nodded, he loved Irina's slight accent and the way she formed her sentences – he would listen to her quiet words forever if he ever got the chance. "I can't believe he kept it a secret for so long. He hates me but he never told me – he never told anyone."

"I believe that the Headmaster told him not to speak of what had happened. It is apparent that he did as he was asked."

Remus looked up incredulously. "He kept the secret for all that time?"

"Yes."

"Why now then? Why has he chosen to tell me now?"

Irina pulled a chair to the bedside and sat down. "I think it is because he is nearing the end of his abilities to control himself. I think he is about to be torn apart by what he must do. Remus, he is rapidly approaching the time when he will not be able to choose or distinguish between friend and foe, between the truth and the lies, and that is one of the reasons why I am here. I know it is difficult for you, but please do not be angry with him. We must treat him with tolerance and patience. No one truly understands how difficult it is for him to juggle so many conflicting demands. I know of few others who would succeed though. Please forgive him for his behaviour tonight."

Remus couldn't contain the tears of sympathy and sadness that sprung to his eyes, the heightened emotions of the wolf affecting him as time approached for his coming transformation. He turned onto his side, his back to Irina, so she wouldn't see them in an effort to protect the last remaining shreds of his dignity.

Irina watched as the man turned from her, and she rested her hand gently on his shoulder. "Do not blame yourself. You are not responsible. Sirius Black made a foolish mistake the night he lead Severus to the Shrieking Shack, and a number of people have paid dearly for his foolishness. Severus is but one that will be tormented by that night for the rest of his life." Irina stood, but didn't release his shoulder. "I am here any time you need to talk." She offered sincerely.

"Thank you."

Irina gently squeezed the man's shoulder. "I should go to him. I will come and visit you again before you transform. Do not fret about this Remus, it will only make things worse." With that, she removed her hand from the man's shoulder and herself from the room.

*

Irina moved quickly down the halls and staircases, in an attempt to reach the dungeons before the Potions Master could do something stupid. Irina reflected that the time was almost upon them when he would need to be watched 24 hours a day nearly to ensure he didn't do something foolish. Reaching his office door, she listened for sounds of movement within. At first she heard nothing, but then, just as she was about to turn and leave, she heard the sound of one jar hitting another.

Deciding that knocking would probably just ensure she was sent away, Irina placed her hand quietly against the door and pushed it open. Stepping into the office and closing the door behind her, she turned quickly and raised her hand. A jar filled with Triffid roots stopped 6 inches from her face. His aim was clearly still excellent.

"Surely you do not wish to waste such expensive potions ingredients on me Professor Snape?"

"Get out." Snape glared at her.

"Professor, Severus, please, we need to speak about your treatment of Remus."

"I would prefer it if you were a little less familiar and I told you to get out. I will not speak of that abomination. I may be forced to work with him, I will not be forced to be pleasant to him."

Irina ignored his angry chastisement, and forged on, hoping for some small breakthrough. She spoke gently. "Severus, please be reasonable. He was not responsible for what happened in the Shrieking Shack."

Snape regarded the blonde woman with disdain. Damn Dumbledore and his big mouth. Did this woman know everything about him? He would have to remember to thank the meddling old fool for telling her of all his secrets. "Who was then? Black, of course, but he is already dead. Perhaps you would care to tell me who I should blame now for the nightmares that still haunt me." He glared at her waiting for an answer and then looked away. "No, I thought not."

"Severus please understand I do not wish you to suffer more than you already have, but the time is drawing near for the final battle, and we can not afford to be fighting amongst ourselves. Please try to be a little more considerate of Remus, after all, he never knew how badly he had hurt you until today, in return I shall endeavour to do nothing to upset your delicate sensibilities."

Snape glared at her. "There is nothing delicate about my sensibilities, and I will not succumb to blackmail. Get out of my office before I decide upon the most appropriate hex."

Irina nodded and backed away, keeping the jar floating stationary in the air. She didn't wish to add to his burdens, but she wouldn't allow him to take too many liberties either. "Just try it and I will hex you to the end of the year." She warned gently, but with a slightly threatening tone.

Snape looked up sharply, a seed of vague recognition taking root in his mind. A lifetime ago another had used a similar threat, and that which had come after his acceptance of the challenge had cost him dearly. That was a lifetime ago though and he was no longer the little boy that had fallen victim to that particular trap.

"OUT!" He bellowed.

Irina watched the unnerved potions master. "Yes," she agreed softly, "I see it is time to leave." She waved her hand slightly and sent the jar floating back to him. "You should try to be a little more careful of your ingredients, they are far too expensive to waste." As they settled on the desk beside him, Irina left his office.

Closing the door gently behind her, Irina fell against the wall and closed her eyes, painfully aware of just how damaged he was. She was about to walk away when she heard the jar of Triffid roots fall to the ground. The sound of the disintergrating roots was unmistakeable even after such a long time. It was clear it wouldn't be long before he would be too close to the abyss to be saved.


	8. Transformations

**Chapter 9 - Transformations**

Authors Note: Sorry for any mistakes in this, canon references come from memory so please forgive any glaring errors.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, particularly everyone who reviews regularly or who have followed me from Snape's Saviour. I really appreciate your ongoing support. The fact is that every little snippet you write is valued, in fact some of the things that you have said, no names mentioned, have made me consider this story in a totally different light. The plan hasn't changed, but your comments push me to write better and consider my words more carefully. Don't forget that this is still only my second full- blooded fan fic, and I am still only just coming to the realisation that I can do this.

I blush with gratitude, and will try to stick with regular (ideally weekly) updates.

To Ana, I have added a couple of extra paragraphs to this chapter that weren't originally planned, but it should answer your question. I was originally going to say that I wanted you all to remain in the dark about Irina, and have everything revealed to you as it is to Snape, but I already had a little snippet typed and I decided it would fit without revealing too much.

Anyway that is it. I hope you all enjoy this. Please read and review. Your thoughts and comments really REALLY do matter.

On with the story.

*

"My Dear Husband,

I hope this letter finds you and the children safe and well. I am sorry I have not written before this, but I know you understand that it is dangerous for both of us. It is also more difficult here than I had imagined. I am now beginning to realise that reaching the Potions Master will be almost impossible. He is very nearly beyond help and reach. Our first meeting was under less than fortunate circumstances and I am not sure that I will be able to gain his confidence. I can only hope that I am wrong otherwise everything will be lost and my time here wasted.

I am eternally grateful for your understanding and your willingness to allow me to make this choice. Please, My Love, trust that our love is strong enough to survive this time of separation. Seeing how things are now I truly regret the choices of my youth, but the one thing I will never regret is the love we share and the family we have built together. These things bring me great happiness and give me the courage to endure. I see now, that the time I have spent pining for what might have been, time you know of but were too kind to mention or complain about, was wasted, and would best have been spent building further the relationship that we share. Many things have changed here, but none for the better and I realise now that it may have been a mistake to return, the past, like so many other things, is lost. Only the future now exists for so many and it is this future for which we must now fight.

I sit here writing this, gathering my thoughts for what must come next, gazing occasionally upon the shining face of the full moon as it rises, knowing only too well what it means for so many. I wonder if you too are gazing at the same wondrous spectacle? She looses something here, she seems perhaps a little less pure than when we view her together, but then, perhaps, it is just the shining beacon of our shared love that enhances her beauty.

Give my love to the children. Always know that I love you all and shall return as soon as my job here is done.

Keep safe.

Your loving wife,

Irina."

Irina laid her quill down and folded the parchment, a feeling of melancholy almost overwhelming her. She felt lonely in this cold place, no colder physically, of course, than her own country, but so empty now that it could never become home. There were compelling reasons for her to be here, compelling reasons for her to stay, but as things stood she could think of no real reason that mattered not to run home to her own life and her own troubles, and admit defeat. Here she was unwanted by the one she had come to help and merely tolerated by the rest, home was filled with love and a sense of belonging, and she missed that terribly. Emptiness was a feeling she had put behind her long ago and she wasn't entirely sure she was ready to allow it to take hold in her heart again.

She looked at the Siberian Albatross waiting patiently. It was a large bird, so much larger than the owls used for regular post, but then this was no regular letter, the large grey-white bird before her would travel half way across the world before its task was done. An owl would never make the journey successfully, and besides, carried by an albatross, the letter was far less likely to be intercepted before it reached its intended recipient.

Sealing the envelope with wax, forgoing the royal seal she carried and opting for a simple Hogwarts seal instead, Irina held the letter out for the bird to take in its great beak. "May your journey be safe and swift and may the weather be kind." Irina opened the window and watched as the large bird stretched its huge wings and flew of silently, barely flapping them, into the coming darkness of the night. 

Sighing, she picked up her cloak and checked both wands were in place before leaving her chambers and closing the door quietly behind her.

*

Remus could feel the first sensations of the wolf he carried within him making its way to the surface. It was a feeling he knew well, he had grown up with it, and he knew it heralded the rising of the moon above the horizon. It was a little known fact, after all how many actually cared he wondered, that a Werewolf wouldn't be fully transformed until the moon had risen 28 degrees above the horizon, one degree for every day of the Lunar Cycle, one degree for every day he was free of the beast that lurked within. 

In practice that fact meant little, but the reality was that there was a small window of opportunity at the start of every full moon, where he could be safely approached, a small period of time when he had to suffer through the often painful feelings of being lost to the dark creature he would become. It was a period when gentle care could ease the symptoms of the coming transformation, but Remus could only vaguely remember the times when he had received such care. It had been a lifetime of suffering ago. 

For Remus and many others transformations started slowly. It was almost like what Muggle women called PMS, so it was, in fact, quite ironic that Werewolfs were almost exclusively male. Generally one to two days before the full moon he would find himself overwhelmed with tiredness. His joints and muscles would then begin to ache with a pain that no potion could relieve, and that constant, chronic pain would affect his normal affability. Remus realised upon considering this fact, that the pain had not left him at all during the last cycle, in fact, he couldn't actually remember when he had been truly pain free at all, and that wasn't a good sign. 

Transformations were a downward progression from there. By the evening of the first night of the full moon, he would be bed ridden, and an hour before the first beams of moonlight struck the world he would take the only potion that was of any real help, Severus' wonderful Wolfsbane. He didn't care that it was almost unpalatable; to Remus nothing could be as bad as an unaided transformation, particularly now that he had seen the potential he had to cause damage. "Damn you Sirius, I nearly killed a man." He hissed quietly to his dead friend.

He closed his eyes as he was struck by a feeling something akin to a nail being hammered into his head. He gasped at its intensity and fought against the tears of frustration that rose in his eyes. Wolfsbane was both a blessing and a curse - it meant that he was no longer a threat to anyone once transformed, but it also meant that he was sentient during the transformation and would experience every sensation. Keeping his mind, that was how it was described by those who didn't have to live through the experience, the reality was that it meant suffering such agonising pain that no torture could compare, Crucius included. It was a fortunate thing that the memory of the reality of that pain was lost when the Werewolf returned to human form, as a human it remained, little more than a dream until the whole cycle started again.

Remus stiffened as his increasingly sensitive hearing detected the sounds of someone approaching his chambers. His senses all altered as the transformation started, some for better - hearing, smell and taste; some for worse - sight and touch. Light footsteps were coming. He couldn't believe she would take the risk, yet she had said she would return and now she had. He opened his eyes and waited, knowing soon he would only see in a strange combination of blurry black and white. Sight was generally his last sense to change perhaps because his eyes were the last part of him to take on the golden hue of the wolf.

The visitor - he already knew it was Irina - knocked quietly. "Remus, may I come in?"

"Yes." His voice was hoarse, both form the effects of the transformation and the emotional onslaught he was experiencing.

"How do you feel?" Irina stepped into the room, closing the door quickly behind her and moved to the bed.

"How do you think?" Remus snapped abruptly. Irina looked at him, those clear blue eyes boring into his soul and he felt terrible for his harsh words. "I'm sorry," he managed to choke out, turning away so he couldn't see the hurt in those eyes. He tensed when he felt her hand take his, and his breath caught in his throat.

"Do not fret, I am not hurt by the harshness of your words. I understand it is difficult for you." Irina drew a chair forward and sat, stroking Remus' hand. He was surprised at how comforting the contact was - it almost eased the ache, and he revelled in the long forgotten memories of similar kindnesses that he had been shown as a child.

"How can you come here? Why don't you fear me?"

Irina continued to stroke the thin hand as she began to speak in a quiet voice so as not to hurt his increasingly delicate hearing. "I do not fear you because you are not yet the wolf, and because even when you are fully transformed it will be under the influence of Wolfsbane. You must understand Remus, that in my country we are quite backwards in many areas, particularly the treatment of magical maladies."

Remus looked at Irina incredulously. "Are you saying that Wolfsbane is not available at all in Russia?"

Irina shook her head. "No, not at all, it is just that Wolfsbane is so expensive that it is only available to a very small number of those that require it.  Perhaps only 1/10th of those affected receive it, so at the full moon we generally have far more to fear than being in the same room as a transfiguring Werewolf under its control. Of course, you will already know that our Werewolf population is considerably greater than that of any other country, so the average Russian citizen is likely to personally know perhaps five or six Werewolfs that transform without the benefit of Professor Snape's remarkable potion."

"Good Heavens! I can't imagine such a thing." Remus winced as the pain of his coming transformation increased in intensity. Soon he would be gone altogether. "You must go now, please." He begged.

Irina nodded and looked at him sympathetically. Releasing his hand she touched his face gently and felt the muscles and bones within beginning to rearrange themselves. "Yes, I shall leave you to transform in private." She stood, not removing her hand.

Remus was disappearing quickly now, but he was still conscious of her touch, and the quiet, slightly accented words she left him with.

"It is fortunate that you do not have to imagine such a thing Remus. It is something that you must try and remember to be grateful for, regardless of the reason the potion came into being. Good came from bad in this case and that is not a common thing."

Irina moved to the door, breaking contact with the man-wolf, and he almost whimpered at the loss. Turning, Irina watched as the first physical signs of the wolf her fellow Professor was to become emerged. Passing through the door, and locking it behind her, Irina thought sadly of those in her own country, friends included, that were facing a similar, but unassisted trauma. If she survived her time at Hogwarts and returned to her country, she would ensure that they would never suffer in such a way again. Making her pledge, she moved quickly upwards, seeking the other one who would be suffering tonight.

*

The night was calm and still, the air cold in the clearness, and gentle shadows danced in the soft light of the full moon as scattered clouds moved through the vast blackness of the night sky. Irina watched the dark man quietly, knowing he was unaware of her presence. She had known she would find him here - it was inevitable that he would return to this place on a night such as this. As a student, the Astronomy tower had been one of his favourite places - it had provided a refuge for the quiet, lonely, introverted boy that he was, and it was clear that he still valued it for the same reason. There were other reasons, too, why she knew he would always return here in a time of need if he was able, but she chose not to think of them.

"When it gets dark enough, the stars come out."

Snape stiffened, startled by the intruder's quiet words, but did not turn. "And what may I ask, is _that_ obtuse comment supposed to mean?" 

Irina moved forward and stood beside him, glancing up at the face that was lined by years of torment. "Only that even when things seem impossibly bleak and dark, there will always be some small glimmer of light to guide one home." She paused, allowing him to consider her words. "Producing Wolfsbane for Remus is very noble."

Snape turned suddenly, anger flaring in him and forcing the uncomfortable feeling of deja-vu away, and moved to the door, opening it, but turning before passing through. "What would you know?" He asked quietly as he closed it behind him.

Irina sighed and watched as the darkly clad man disappeared behind another protective barrier, and she wondered if she would ever reach him. Turning back to contemplate the peaceful countryside surrounding the castle, and the darkness of the forest beyond, her heart lurched and she wiped away the tears that glistened in her eyes, reflecting the soft white glow of the moon.

*

Dumbledore watched as Snape paced around his office in an all too familiar state of agitation. Of course this time there was a reason, it was the full moon, but the young man was yet to speak, so the Headmaster waited patiently for him to speak of what had pushed him over the edge this time.

"I won't have her in my classroom. I can't imagine what you were thinking by bringing her here."

Ah, Dumbledore thought sadly, the new arrival was the cause of the young man's agitation. "Severus, please. we both know how desperately you need help and she is the perfect solution."

Snape laughed but it was a mirthless sound. "Perfect is she? Have you any idea? Has she? You do realise, of course, that she just accused me of being noble because I brew Wolfsbane for Lupin. _Noble! _We both know that is so far from the truth that the mere suggestion is ludicrous. She has no idea of the things I have done, she might be a Potions Mistress, she may even have excellent Defence skills, but she lives in some perfect world where evil doesn't exist. It simply won't work - we can't work together."

Albus sat and watched Snape unhappily. It had to work, or the young man before him would be lost. It was clear now that he had been pushed to the edge and looked into the abyss, and what he had seen had damaged him forever. "Severus, you accuse Irina of the same thing that you are guilty of I am afraid, taking people at face value and reacting to them inappropriately. In time I expect you will come to see that the world she has left is far from the perfect haven you think and she is as damaged as you are by the things she has had to endure. The only difference between the two of you is that she learned how to overcome the pain, fear and anger and move on. I had hoped that you would be reasonable and allow her to work with you so you could learn this from her. Please don't make me force you to work with her."

Snape glared at him. "You're saying I don't have a choice? You haven't heard the last of this!" He spat before turning and stalking from Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore watched as the door slammed closed behind the troubled Potions Master, then bowed his head, resigned. "No, I am sure I haven't Severus."

*

Irina knocked on the door to Snape's chambers. There was no response. She tried again, but there was still no response. She wondered if he had, perhaps, been called, but doubted it. Voldemort would still be living under the impression that the Potions Master was dead after the damage he had inflicted during his last visit. She shuddered at the thought of the evil being's cruelty.

"Nomen incorpusculus." Anyone who was watching would have seen the pale witch disappear into thin air. It was uncertain whether the ghosts would even be aware of her presence now. Irina was non-corpuscular but she wasn't part of the dimension of the dead, she was, in fact, simply gone. Unfortunately the spell didn't last long - it used too much power to be maintained. She stepped quickly through the door before returning to her normal form. 

She smiled to herself; it was part of the joy of being a polymagus, changing form at a whim. Irina remembered her childhood fondly. As a teenager she had become acquainted with a younger child with similar capabilities. Tonks was working for the Order now and that wasn't a surprise. She wondered if she still practiced. They had giggled for hours sometimes at their transitions, as Lily looked on. They had enjoyed shocking people, particularly Tonks' parents. They were the most common victims of their pranks, but then they deserved it after giving her a name like Nymphodora. Irina smiled at the memory. Of course, she thought sadly, so much had changed since those carefree times. Lily was gone, and Tonks would never recognise her now. The thought of how much she had lost saddened her. 

After graduating from the Baikal Institute, she had quickly learned to manipulate her powers to reduce the energy required to maintain the transformation spell, and it was far more effective than using the Fidelus charm - no secret keeper was needed which was vital to safety. Fidelus generally failed when the secret keeper failed. Irina didn't have that problem to contend with.  Incorpusculus still evaded her though; she could only keep that up for a few minutes. Most of the time it was enough. 

Irina was looking around Snape's chambers when she heard the door open. She froze. Thinking quickly, she transformed into a spider. She would be able to creep out under the door unnoticed with any luck. Scurrying across the floor, she slid under the door and returned to human form, breathing a sigh of relief. That had been too close for comfort.


	9. Home Truths

**Chapter 10 – Home Truths**

****

Author's Note: First, forgive me again for any errors. Canon references are still from memory.

It seems like this is not pleasing very many people, but while I have three or four regular reviewers I will keep writing. If there are lurkers out there, please drop me some reviews. Thank you to Snapefan51, Yankeebelle and Ana Morales. I expect that QsDaughter will be back too, but I will have to wait and see. I guess you can see that I am a bit saddened by the lack of reviews for the last couple of chapters… I guess everyone might be busy. Of course, I did say that updates might take a while, but the idea fairy grabbed me by the neck and three chapters have come out.

Please let me know if you still like this….

Anyway that is enough of that. Here is the next chapter. I hope you will enjoy it; it may seem a little odd. Chapter 11 sees us return to Hogwarts, and there will be some tough times for Snape. Now, on with the story!

*

Aunt Petunia looked at the three children sitting at the kitchen table. They seemed normal. To anyone looking at them, it would just appear to be three adolescents enjoying their breakfast, well, Aunt Petunia reflected, perhaps not enjoying… She didn't know what had happened the previous night, but Harry looked more tired than normal and he seemed to be worried about something. That was hardly what she had intended when she had allowed him to invite his friends over. She sighed, even as a child she had never understood the ways of the magical people she came into contact with and to her Muggle mind they still defied understanding. She noticed that the girl, Hermione, was watching her with almost the same amount of interest. Harry and the boy, Ron, hadn't seemed to notice, and were as startled as she herself was, when Hermione spoke.

"Mrs Dursley, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions?"

Aunt Petunia looked at the girl surprised, she had hardly expected to be put in the spotlight. "Well, I suppose so," she answered, unsure.

Hermione nodded. She wasn't sure if she should continue, particularly after Harry had had such a bad night – Ron may have fallen straight back to sleep, but she had remained awake listening to Harry's laboured breathing as he tossed and turned trying to resolve the nightmare. She knew how much he hated Snape, particularly after what had happened with Sirius, but she knew he hated the idea of killing anyone more, except perhaps Voldemort. He must have been worried, too, that it was some kind of magic, he still hadn't mastered Occlumency after all. 

Hermione had considered getting up again to see if she could do anything to help him, but she knew that would just disturb Ron. Somehow she knew that Harry was finding it difficult talking to Ron, perhaps it was a carry over from the difficulties they had had the previous year, but Hermione noticed that Harry seemed to sort of close up whenever Ron was around. Maybe it was just a boy thing. Either way, she hoped they would grow out of it.

She looked at Harry sideways, he still looked tired, but he didn't seem as upset as he had the night before, and she decided to take the chance. It might be the only chance she had to get the information she needed. "I was wondering if you had any idea why Harry's Mother was a witch, but you aren't?"

Harry nearly choked on his toast. Tears rose in his eyes and he bowed his head. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear about his Mother, not now, not with so much pain still raw in him, but he couldn't leave. What if it was the only time his Aunt ever spoke of her sister? He sat, frozen, trying to stop his body from trembling, and waited for her response.

Aunt Petunia hadn't taken the question well either. It was certainly not what she had expected, although she wondered just what she had expected the girl to ask. "I don't really remember much about it, you have to remember that I was still very young when Lily got her powers. I was older than her, but we were still children."

"Yes, I understand that, but there must have been some mention." Hermione had done the deed now and she wasn't going to be put off, she wanted to coax as much information out of Harry's Aunt as she possibly could. "You must remember something."

Aunt Petunia sighed and looked at the eager young girl. Her face shone with a desire for knowledge. In a way she reminded her a lot of Lily. Lily had always been eager to learn, seeking knowledge from wherever she could find it. It was a trait they had both shared. The thought of her childhood, of those wonderful days of promise filled Aunt Petunia with sadness. How could things have gone so horribly wrong? There was nothing left of those happy days now and she had spent a lifetime trying to forget everything she had lost. Now, with one question, it was all back again and she knew she would have her own nightmares tonight. The magical world had a lot to answer for.

"I would prefer not to speak of it, besides I honestly don't remember much. After that night," Aunt Petunia didn't elaborate on _what_ night, and didn't need to, "I tried hard to forget what I knew of the magical world. It had stolen so much from me. It tore my family apart and left me with a child that should never have been mine. It hasn't been easy, and Harry's Uncle hasn't made it any easier. I really don't think I should talk about it."

Aunt Petunia watched Harry, he seemed about to destruct. The kitchen was filled with a heavy silence as she turned away from the table and stared out of the window, trying to calm her racing heart. Her loss had been buried under years of anger, now the pain of that loss was back and it almost stole her breath away. She closed her eyes and tried to hold back the tears. She wouldn't allow herself to cry in front of children.

"Please." Harry's quiet voice broke the silence.

Aunt Petunia looked at the boy who looked so much like his father; his green eyes, the only sign of her adored sister, were filled with tears threatening to overflow. She would speak if he asked, but only if he was sure. "Are you sure?"

Harry nodded.

Aunt Petunia removed her apron, wiping her hands and sat down at the end of the table. She looked at Harry and nobody else; it was as if there was no one else in the room. "I really don't remember much, you understand that don't you."

Harry nodded again, not trusting himself to speak.

"For as long as I could remember, strange things always seemed to happen. My Mother would leave a pot on the stove, she was quite forgetful, but when she returned it would have been turned off, so it hadn't burned; father would be about to get into a rage because he had misplaced something and it would mysteriously turn up. I was young, I never really understood, but one day we had a visit from a strange man in even stranger clothes. He spoke to our parents for hours, but we were told to stay in our rooms, then he left and we never saw him again."

"Dumbledore."

"Yes, perhaps. Now I look back, I suppose it was, but at the time it wasn't so clear. Anyway, after that everything seemed to change, but it was still my family so I lived with the changes. It wasn't until much later when we were about to start High School that my parents explained that we would attend different schools. By then, of course, it was quite clear that something peculiar was going on, that there was magic in the house. I was still shattered by the reality of our separation though. We were very close as children but that all ended when we went to different schools. Hogwarts was a boarding school, mine wasn't – every afternoon when I came home it seemed as though there was a gapping hole in my life, the house seemed so empty. It wasn't until holidays that we had a chance to be sisters again."

"But how?"

Aunt Petunia looked at Harry. "I honestly don't know. Your Mother could have told you, but not being magical, I never learned, and my parents never said. Lily constantly spoke of her time at Hogwarts so I wouldn't feel left out, not that it helped much, but I just never thought to ask _how_ she had become magical. It simply didn't seem to matter, she just was, and she was my sister and I loved her."

Harry nodded. "Thank you."

Aunt Petunia stood quickly and hugged him. He was still surprised at his Aunt's change of behaviour, but now things were a little clearer. She was angry, just as he was, not with him though, but with those who had cost her so dearly. She had lost her beloved sister and he had lost the Mother he only knew from snippets of visions that he had, and a few photos. 

It was an empty life for both of them, considering how much fuller it could have been. His heart hurt, he had to save the wizarding world, yet he had nothing. Perhaps he would just let Voldemort kill him, he thought angrily, that would show them, but then he remembered Sirius, the only family he had had until recently, and he knew he could never betray him. Sirius had died, his heart lurched painfully again, trying to protect him, and he wouldn't reject that.

All three finished their breakfast in silence. Hermione hadn't received the answer she had wanted, but it didn't matter. Aunt Petunia may have known more than she was letting on, but it was clearly painful for her still, even after a lifetime, and the effect her words had had on Harry had been profound, so she wouldn't push for more. She really hadn't intended to upset either of them, but she had managed to upset both. Hermione found it hard to swallow the last bites of her breakfast, and wondered how she could make it up to her friend.

*

"So, what do you want to do?" Ron asked, it was early and the whole day was ahead of them. Looking around Harry's room he realised there was very little in the way of amusements, but then he already knew that Harry was definitely the poorer cousin.

"I don't know." 

Harry was clearly still upset. Hermione moved to him. "I'm really sorry."

Harry looked at her, a look of confusion on his face. "What for?"

 "For asking your Aunt about your Mum."

Harry laughed. "You're kidding right? Don't be stupid, I'm not upset about that, not really anyway. I have been trying to figure out how to approach her for ages. I just figured she would get angry, but she didn't today and I am glad. I mean," Harry took a deep breath, "I mean she _is_ my Aunt. She grew up with my Mum, so she _has _to know what she was like right?"

Hermione and Ron both nodded.

There was a knock on the door, and Aunt Petunia opened it, addressing Harry. "I thought you might like to go to the cinema, they are showing the three Lord of the Rings movies. I believe they are very popular, in fact Dudley hasn't stopped talking about them." She paused thoughtfully, "They finish quite late, but you can go if you like."

Harry looked at her, and for the first time he noticed sadness in her eyes. He wondered how long it had been there – perhaps it had been there forever and he had just disregarded it. Perhaps he had misinterpreted it as hate rather than the sadness it was. For the first time, he realised just how much power he now had, his Aunt _may_ have shared a childhood with his Mother, but he had something that she would never have – he had magic, and that link was stronger than anything. He could, anytime he wanted, close his eyes and "see" his parents. His Aunt had nothing but memories. Suddenly he felt sorry for her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Just remember that your Uncle and Dudley will be back at about 12 tomorrow, so Ron and Hermione will have to be gone by then."

Harry nodded. "Okay, thanks."

Aunt Petunia held out a fifty-pound note, Harry had never had so much Muggle money before. "This should be enough."

Harry couldn't help himself, as he moved forward to take it he took his Aunt's hand instead. "Are you going to be alright?" He asked quietly.

Aunt Petunia gripped his hand back, as though desperate for contact with that which she had lost. "Yes." Her voice broke as she spoke and she turned, pulling her hand away quickly. "Thank you."

Harry nodded and pocketed the money, wondering if perhaps things didn't have to be so bad.

*

"You know I don't believe you Aunt gave you so much money." Ron Mumbled, filling his mouth with a handful of popcorn.

"Ron, you are such a pig! Hasn't anyone ever told you not to talk with your mouth full?" Hermione asked indignantly.

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, spraying popcorn all over the place.

Harry burst into laughter at the look on Hermione's face, then Ron followed suit, showering both of them with tiny pieces of buttered corn. Hermione looked at both boys disgusted then crossed her arms and stared at the screen.

Sometimes boys could really be pigs.

*

As the third of the epics commenced, Hermione reflected that it had been an excellent idea to go to the movies. She couldn't be one hundred percent sure, but she thought that Harry was at least as engrossed as she was, which meant he wasn't thinking, or worrying about Sirius or Voldemort or now about the nightmare of killing Snape. That would give him at least nine hours of freedom, not that the movies didn't share a peculiar similarity to his life; after all, it was about a quest to defeat evil. The major difference though was that the movies were clearly fiction.

Somewhere inside though, she had a terrible feeling about leaving his Aunt alone, and she knew Harry was concerned too. She doubted the woman would do anything foolish, but she was worried that she had forced her to open old wounds and that it might be hard for her to close them. She sighed and took another Jaffa. Her parents would freak if they knew how much junk food she had eaten today. After all, it was bad for the teeth, but she didn't care, after all, what was the point of having parents that were orthodontists if they couldn't fix her teeth?

"We are all going to get fat after eating all this junk." Hermione declared.

"Yeah, but it tastes really great." Ron, answered. He had eaten, single handed, as much as Harry and Hermione put together, and Hermione knew he was going to regret it later.

"I just hope Aunt Petunia didn't expect too much change." Harry whispered.

"Oh, heavens! We haven't spent it all have we?" Hermione asked worried.

"Nearly, there is about fifteen pounds left. I guess it is too late to worry about it now." Harry answered.

"But we had to eat, after all, it _has _been nearly ten hours." Ron offered.

"Yeah, we did, but did you have to eat _everything_?" Hermione asked.

"Hey," Ron answered indignantly, "Don't forget that _I _don't have Muggle parents. This is the first time I have been to a real cinema."

"Shut up and watch the movie." Harry hissed. "Don't worry about it."

"How about you all shut up or I will call the management and have you thrown out."

Harry, Ron and Hermione all turned and looked at the boy who had spoken. He was easily as big as Dudley. Harry had seen him around occasionally and he knew starting a fight would be a bad thing, particularly when they couldn't use magic. "Sorry."

The boy nodded, but a dangerous look lingered in his eyes, and they all returned their attention to the movie.

*

It was nearly midnight before the three arrived back at 4 Privet Drive. The light at the front door was on, but when they went inside, it was dark. Quietly, not wishing to disturb Aunt Petunia, the trio crept upstairs.

Opening his bedroom door, he ushered Ron and Hermione inside. "Get into bed, I won't be long. I just want to see if Aunt Petunia is alright."

"Are you sure Harry? Perhaps we should just leave her until the morning." Hermione suggested.

"Yeah, perhaps, but I feel kind of bad. I never really thought about how she felt until today. After all, I didn't even know my Mum, but she grew up with her. I thought I had it bad, but she had it worse."

Hermione nodded. "If you need help…"

"I'll be okay."

Harry closed the door quietly behind him and made his way down the hall to his Aunt's room. He would have loved to use magic to check if she was all right, but he couldn't, after all, it certainly wasn't life threatening. Instead, he resorted to knocking. When there was no answer he opened the door slightly and poked his head around. His Aunt wasn't in the bed.

Opening the door further he threw caution to the wind and stepped inside. The room was dark, the corners hidden in shadows, but his Aunt definitely wasn't in the bed. The door to her cupboard was open. Harry thought it was quite strange nothing was ever out of place in his Aunt's room.

A gust of wind came, and the cupboard door banged. Moving quickly across the room he pulled it shut and locked it. He actually kind of hoped that Ron and Hermione were asleep, and he didn't want them to wake up. What he really wanted was to talk to his Aunt alone before Vernon and Dudley returned. Wondering where she was, quietly concerned that something nasty might have happened; he walked out of the room and made his way down stairs.

Opening the kitchen door he reached out to turn on the light.

"Don't."

Harry froze. "Aunt Petunia?"

"Yes."

"Are you alright?"

"Perhaps."

Harry's heart heaved. "What do you mean perhaps?"

"She's gone Harry, they're all gone."

Harry could smell the brandy his Aunt kept for cooking, but he couldn't see anything, the kitchen was completely dark. "Aunt Petunia?"

"I'm scared Harry. He killed her, what if he comes here and tries to kill you and I end up with nothing."

Harry wanted to turn and run from the room, he wanted to run and keep on running, but where could he run when the most powerful wizard in the world wanted to kill him. Here he was safe, but what if he wasn't? What if his Aunt was right? What if Voldemort did try and kill him here, and Vernon and Dudley got in the way? What if his Aunt was killed?" Harry froze in fear; the thought of what could happen suddenly terrified him. What if they all died? What if he couldn't win?

"I'm sorry Harry, for everything, for always being nasty and for not protecting you from Vernon and Dudley. You are Lily's son; I should have been better to you. I should have told you the truth years ago instead of hiding it away."

"It's alright." He soothed.

"No…"  Aunt Petunia let out a sob. "I have some pictures… I thought you might like to see them…" There was a desperate hope in her voice Harry had never heard before.

"Can I turn on the light?"

"Yes."

Harry reached out and flicked the switch and the kitchen was flooded with bright light. He blinked quickly while his eyes adjusted to the sudden onslaught.

Moving into the room he looked at his Aunt. The brandy bottle was empty beside her and there was a large box in front of her that held a pile of photos. There were tear stains on her cheeks and her hair was dishevelled, and with a sinking feeling Harry realised that she had probably spent the whole day crying. Alone.

He moved closer, cautious, not really knowing how to act or behave. This was something he had never experienced. Taking a photo, he looked at it, it was a colour photo of a small girl with red-brown hair and green eyes, and she was waving happily at the camera. "Is this my Mum?"

"Yes."

Harry studied the photo. Somehow this photo was even better than those that Hagrid had given him. Sure, Hagrid's gift had been wonderful, it had been the first tangible thing he had had of his parents, but this was different. This was his family, his family before magic had destroyed it. He picked up the next photo; it was a photo of a man holding two little girls.

"Your Grandfather."

The next was a black and white photo of a slender woman with a small child on her knee. "My Grandmother and Mother?"

Aunt Petunia took the photo and studied it carefully. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"It's definitely your Grandmother." She pushed the box to Harry, returning the photo. "You can have them all." Harry realised that she was suddenly pale. "I don't feel very well. I think I need to go to bed."

"Let me help you." Harry moved quickly to his Aunt's side and offered his arm.

"Please, don't tell your Uncle." Aunt Petunia looked at him desperately. "He would never forgive me."

"I won't." Harry promised.

Harry struggled to support his Aunt, and seriously doubted two things, the first being that they would make it up the stairs, the second that she would be well enough to face Vernon and Dudley without them knowing what had happened regardless of anything he said or didn't say.

The first worry was taken care of when they reached the kitchen door. Harry was surprised to see Hermione watching from the bottom of the stairs. "I thought you might need some help. Is she alright?"

"Not really." Harry answered gratefully, as Hermione moved to support his Aunt too, for the long climb up the stairs. "She has been drinking. I guess about half a bottle of cooking brandy by the look of things. She never drinks."

"Oh… Harry…"

"Shhhh, you will be alright soon. Just a few more steps." Harry reassured his Aunt quietly.

"I think I am going to be sick."

"No, no you're not."

"Harry, she is terribly pale. She might."

"Shhh, Hermione, she can be sick when we get her to bed."

Aunt Petunia stumbled and fell to her knees as they reached the door to her room. Harry fell with her but quickly stood and grabbed her before she fell further. "Sick…"

"_NO!_" He almost shouted, "Come on, bed is just a few steps away." He turned to Hermione and was surprised to find her gone. "Hermione!" He hissed.

Hermione came running lightly back down the hall. "Sorry, but I didn't think we would make it so I went to look for something." She handed Harry a basin.

Harry held it in front of his kneeling Aunt with one hand and supported her with the other. He could feel her body shaking with sobs. "Shhh, it's alright. Don't worry." 

"Bed."

Hermione moved forward and between them they managed to wrestle Aunt Petunia into the bed. Rolling onto her side she croaked one word, "Sick," and Harry thrust the basin in front of her and waited while she vomited. Harry began to worry as the vomiting continued, but after a while it started to abate. Hermione handed him a towel, and by the time he had wiped his Aunt's face she was fast asleep as though nothing had happened.

Hermione moved to the door. "I think she will be alright now. My parents told me once that once someone sleeps after vomiting they will generally be fine, as long as there is nothing seriously wrong."

"Yeah, I guess so." Harry joined her, taking one last look at the room. The rug was crooked, the bedclothes were a mess and his Aunt was lying on top with her clothes on and the bedspread over her. Harry doubted it would take long for his Uncle to figure out what had happened. 

They made their way quietly back to his room and were about to enter when he stopped. "Hold on, I forgot something."

Hermione looked at him. "What?"

"Just hold on." Harry moved quickly but quietly downstairs and straightened the table and chairs, placed the empty bottle in the rubbish bin and collected his box of photos before moving back up stairs.

When they opened the door, they were assaulted by the sounds of Ron's snoring. Not for the first time, Harry thought his friend must have been able to sleep through just about everything, but then living in such a large family he had probably needed to.

Harry and Hermione fell tiredly onto their beds, fully clothed, just grateful that the day was finally over and they could both rest. Tomorrow would be a new day with problems of its own, and there would be time enough to deal with them then.


	10. One Step's Forward, Two Step Back

**Chapter 10 – One Steps Forward, Two Step Back**

****

Author's Note: Here is the next chapter. I think it, and the one that follows may be a little melodramatic, but you guys will just have to put up with it. Thank you to those who continue to read and have reviewed. There will be another chapter fairly early next week.

After a couple of people picked me up on some errors on Chapter 4, I am working on fixing the errors. I have borrowed a friend's copy so I will try and update that next time I post. For those who have read it, there will not be any major changes, just error correction.

Please read and review, but most of all, enjoy!

*

****

Irina knocked quietly on the door. "Remus, it is Irina. May I enter?" The sun had been up for two hours and that was more than enough time for the Werewolf's transformation to reverse. Now she only had one small task to perform, and that was to convince him to join her for breakfast. It wouldn't be easy though, most of those who went through the process preferred to spend a day or two recovering, away from prying eyes, before returning to the world at large. Many found it difficult to reintegrate themselves with society at all and ended their days as loners, and it was for this reason that Irina wanted to draw him out. She wasn't sure if the difficulties experienced were due to embarrassment or fear, but thought that it was likely to be both. Sighing at memories of a time long past, Irina was about to knock again when she heard his answer quietly from the other side of the door.

"I can deny you nothing Tsarina."

Irina realised just how weak he sounded – it was clear he was suffering badly during his transformations, even with Wolfsbane. It wasn't a good sign. She pushed open the door and entered the dimly lit room.

Moving calmly to the bed, knowing only to well from past experience how intensely he could still react if startled, she sat by the chair and regarded the weary looking man. "I have come to take you to breakfast, if you feel up to it."

The mere thought of breakfast made Remus feel ill. "I don't think I do I am afraid. Would you mind terribly if I declined your kind invitation?"

Irina smiled gently and took his hand. "I _would_ mind terribly Remus, but I would also forgive you. I understand how difficult it is for you on the first day, and often even the second, but I assure you that things will be better for you if you if you make the effort to escape your shackles today."

Wolf hormones still running free within his veins, Remus failed to control the anger that rose in him. "What would you know? You don't understand, no one does."

Irina ignored the attack, and continued to hold his hand, even as he tried to pull it away. "I understand that you are frightened and confused, perhaps even a little embarrassed, but there is no need for such feelings. You are safe here Remus; you are amongst friends. I will be with you to protect you and we can return here if you feel it is too much for you. I know that you are still feeling weak, I can feel that, but rather than staying here and allowing the wolf to linger and control you for a little longer, you will find it much better to drive the last of him away and emerge again into the world as a human. I know it is difficult, but you should try." Her words had been calm and quiet, encouraging but not insistent. She waited.

Remus nodded slightly, not entirely convinced, but willing to try. "How can I not accept then?" Irina's face lit up, and the thought that he had made her happy cheered him. "I must change though, I can hardly accompany you dressed like this." He indicated his ragged flannelette pyjamas.

Irina laughed, "I can imagine that some would find it rather astonishing to see you sitting in the Great Hall clad in pyjamas, however I do not want to tire you out unnecessarily." Irina drew her school wand. "Adornus."

Remus found himself wearing comfortable grey robes, of a soft fabric he couldn't identify. Unlike his normal robes, these didn't irritate his skin, which was still sensitive after his time as the wolf. They were also in much better condition than any he owned – they were actually new he decided after a couple of seconds of investigation. "Amazing."

Irina laughed at the surprised look he suddenly wore, and shook her head. "No, merely an undemanding trifle. Surely they teach this simple spell here?"

Remus shook his head. "I haven't heard of it before."

"Oh, it is quite elementary. Most first year students would be able to do it I expect. I will teach you when you feel up to it." She paused, looking at him thoughtfully. "You may keep the robes, you look particularly elegant in them."

Remus blushed at the complement and shook his head again. "I couldn't."

"You must," she responded simply, "they were created for you." Irina was polite enough not to say that they were far better than those he already owned, knowing only too well that _that _comment would only upset him.

"Thank you."

Irina bowed her head. "I have done nothing special, my friend." She stood and offered him her arm for support. "Let me help you up."

Blood rose to Remus' cheeks again, and he looked away embarrassed that she had offered him assistance for such a simple task. What embarrassed him more though was the fact that he would probably need it.

Irina noticed his discomfort. "I am sorry."

He shook his head. "No, you are right. I am the one who should be sorry. You have done nothing but help me."

"And you have done nothing but be burdened by a cruel illness that steals the vitality of those affected. You are ashamed, but have no need to be – it is not of your doing."

Remus took Irina's arm and stood, slowly and unsteadily. Irina wondered if he was actually ready for this, he was far weaker than she had expected, and it worried her. It would be a problem for them all if he were unable to fulfil his part in the final act.

"Who is it?" Remus' words were slightly breathless from exertion.

"I beg your pardon." Irina looked at him quizzically, hiding her concern quickly.

"I was wondering who it was. It is clear that you have had dealings with Werewolves before; you seem to know exactly what to say and do to put me at ease and make it all more bearable. You know a Werewolf don't you?"

"I know _you_ Remus," Irina paused. "But you are correct," she admitted. "A very old and close friend suffers as you do."

"Your husband?"

"No, no, none of my family are inflicted, he is simply a childhood friend. So, as yo see, I have had some experience." For a moment, Remus noted that Irina looked sad, but the look quickly disappeared, and she smiled brightly at him. "Now, I believe we are ready to join the others for breakfast."

*

Breakfast during the school holidays continued to be in the Great Hall, however, it was a much less formal affair than it was with the students present. The head table was set with simple cutlery and crockery, and provision of food was only sufficient, rather than excessive. It was a far more relaxed atmosphere than was normal, and a general feeling of cheerfulness permeated through the small number of staff in attendance.

Irina, and Remus who was still leaning too heavily on her arm, moved slowly, almost regally along the rows of empty student tables. Well, they weren't quite empty; they were adorned with wonderfully scented, decorative floral arrangements that served only to add brightness to the hall. It was almost too much for Remus, and he would have faltered had it not been for the woman at his side. "Be calm Remus. You are safe and secure. There is nothing to be fearful of or embarrassed about. You are not out of place here."

Remus sighed, and squeezed her arm in quiet gratitude.

Reaching the head table, they moved to the empty chairs next to Alastor Moody. There were three, one each for Remus and Irina, and one for the absent Potions Master. Remus sank gratefully down next to Moody, before reaching for a slice of toast to add to his plate. He would have preferred not to eat at all, having learned long ago that his stomach tended to be quite rebellious for the first couple of days after a transformation, but he had come this far so he threw caution to the wind. 

Nibbling on the toast, hoping that simple food in small amounts would cause him less difficulty, he jumped, startled, when Dumbledore's hand arrived without warning on his shoulder. Looking up, Remus saw that both he and McGonagall were standing behind him, smiling enthusiastically. 

Moody, too, looked at him pleased – of course they would be sharing the Defence classes – but his pleasure was derived from more than that. Moody had long ago realised how challenging the younger wizard's life was, and he was amazed at his resilience and willingness to take on further burdens. Working for the Order was not easy; the tasks involved were often quite complex, but in the small period since its re-instigation, the young Werewolf had shown himself to be an indispensable and tireless worker for the light.

"Ah, Remus, it is good to see you have managed to join us. It is an unexpected, but quite pleasant, surprise." Dumbledore's eyes shone with delight, but there was just a hint of worry lurking in their depths. It was clear that he understood how difficult it was for Remus to be there.

Remus swallowed the small mouthful of toast he had managed, almost choking on it as his throat constricted. "Thank you Headmaster. It is due in the main to Professor Ivanov. She has been very supportive."

The old wizard chuckled softly, knowing only too well just how supportive she had been, and grateful for her efforts. His eyes shone with gratitude, glad that she had come and that she had already had such a beneficial effect on one of the staff. He only hoped that she would be able to reach another, knowing only too well how much more difficult it would be. "Yes, I am sure she has." He patted Remus' shoulder gently in support. "Regardless of the reason, I am still glad you felt capable of joining us."

Dumbledore directed his attention to Irina, who was enjoying a plate of summer fruit. Even as Tsarina, such delicacies were difficult to obtain in her own country, and she intended to make the most of the school's abundant supply. "Thank you so much My Dear."

"Not at all Headmaster." 

Dumbledore returned his attention to Remus and engaged him in conversation, McGonagall, too, was chatting quietly with the pair.

Irina was about to reach for another fruit, one she could not identify, clearly something exotic, when the doors to the Great Hall opened again and Snape stalked in, dressed in his usual black robes, but looking almost as ill as the man beside her. 

Snape looked at the head table and stopped as he saw the Werewolf in place, surrounded by his enthusiastic admirers. Quickly, he considered turning and leaving for the privacy of his own quarters, there was clearly no place in that cheery gathering for his dark presence. As everyone seemed ignorant of his arrival, quite content to stroke the ego of the creature, he was about to turn and leave when he became aware of one pair of eyes watching him closely.

Irina watched as the Potions Master stopped, before stiffening and continuing more slowly. She could almost sense his feeling of isolation from across the room and her heart went out to him. Snape was tall and rather daunting, normally, but at that moment he seemed so lost and alone that it was impossible to believe it was the same man that held such an important position within the school and the Order. To her, he looked as though he had nothing and knew that no one cared, and that his crimes had condemned him to a lifetime of separation from those who dwelled wholly within the light. Of course, the truth was quite different, but in his state, he could not see that more people were worried about him than they were about what he had done.

Knowing only too well that seeing Remus surrounded as he was by the other Professors would only increase Snape's feelings of aloneness, Irina smiled encouragingly at him as he drew closer. He didn't return the smile and hers faded at his words.

"Ah, Lupin, how _pleasant_. I see the Werewolf appreciation society is in place too." His words were icy.

Out of the corner of her eye, Irina noticed that Remus grew paler. She placed her hand on his and squeezed it in support. Moody had stiffened too, and Irina noticed that his hand had moved to his wand. The Auror/Death Eater dynamics clearly still clouded the two professors' relationship – like so many other things, that would have to change if they were to defeat Voldemort, they couldn't afford division within the group.

Remus tried to calm his nerves, knowing full well that he didn't have the energy to flee. "Good mor-" He began.

"Don't bother, there is nothing good about it when an abomination such as yourself is allowed to wander around without restraint." Snape spat the hurtful words, knowing only too well the effect they would have on their victim. What he hadn't anticipated was the affect they would have on the other staff members present.

Dumbledore straightened. "Severus," he warned gently, "I think you should stop, now." His blue eyes blazed with anger that was just barely controlled. He understood Snape's discomfort, but he would not condone such rudeness.

Snape ignored the interruption. "So, I have been meaning to ask if you miss it?"

Remus, pale and shaking now at such a stinging verbal attack so soon after a transformation, struggled to speak, confused by the question. "Miss what?"

"The taste of human flesh of course. It must be _so_ much more palatable than that piece of toast you are picking at." Snape didn't wait for a response; he simply turned quickly and stormed back down the hall.

Moody stood, angered as everyone else was, and drew his wand, pointing it at the retreating form. "Filthy Death Eater scum." He swore under his breath. "I know exactly –"

"No." Irina's quiet, but insistent voice stopped the angry wizard from using all his years of Auror training to punish the Potions Master. She placed her hand on his, gently coaxing him into lowering the wand, still threateningly pointed at Snape's back. "I will deal with this. He is acting like this for a reason, and simply punishing him will do no good. We must find out what is troubling him _before_ we punish him, but he will be punished."

Reluctantly, anger still burning fiercely within him, Moody returned his wand to his robes and returned to his seat. "As you wish Tsarina." He answered in clipped tones. It was clear that he wasn't happy with the arrangement, but he would, for the moment at least, allow her first crack at him.

Irina watched as Remus slumped in his chair, motionless and floundering at the attack. She knew he needed help, Snape's words had undone all her hard work, but she had to trust the others to render the assistance he required. Knowing full well that the damage done was more emotional than physical, although both were closely linked in the recently transformed man, she knew the gathered professors were more than capable of providing the support he needed. 

Irina had another more pressing matter to attend to – she had to make Snape realise that his cruelty had been inappropriate, and if possible, that he was not alone. Her own anger would make the second part difficult, and she wondered if she would be able to overcome her own feelings to facilitate the two conflicting demands.

Giving Remus' hand another squeeze, Irina stood, a look of anger that none of the gathered professors had seen before, burning in her eyes. "Do not pay any attention to him Remus, his behaviour is unacceptable. I am sorry to leave you like this but I must deal with this _before_ it gets out of hand."

Remus nodded, barely capable of more, and without further explanation, not that any was needed, Irina moved quickly from the hall in pursuit of the angry man.

*

Snape looked up, surprised, as the door to his office slammed open – he hadn't expected anyone to have the courage to follow regardless of their house loyalties. "Get out!"

Irina, already furious, ignored him. "How _dare_ you do that to him? He already feels guilty enough about what happened! Your behaviour is intolerable."

Snape turned, but it wasn't just anger that burned in his eyes, there was something more. "That – that _thing_ should be locked up where it can do no harm."

"I will not allow you to call Remus a thing. He is as much a human as you are. I must point out that the evil he carries within him is the result of a terrible accident in his youth over which he had no control; the evil you carry within you is a result of your own choices." She paused, "His almost killed him," she looked at him angrily, "Yours might still kill you - particularly if you continue as you have this morning. It was all I could do to stop Alastor from cursing you – do you really think you are ready to take on an hostile ex-Auror?" 

Irina stopped, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, in an attempt to fight against her anger. She realised it would only make things worse, and that there was a reason behind the haggard man's attack. She wanted to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand so she softened her tone and tried logic as her weapon. "We both know Remus is not dangerous, not with Wolfsbane."

Snape looked at her as though she was the most foolish person he had ever encountered. "And what if Wolfsbane fails? He will kill before anyone realises." Snape stopped; horrified that he had just indirectly admitted his weakness – his fear of the wretched creature that dwelled within the quiet Defence professor – fear of facing those golden eyes again, as he had once in life, but which still haunted his dreams. His admission infuriated him more than the fear itself.

Irina watched as his anger increased. "You still fear him?" She asked quietly, realising her mistake as soon as the words had left her lips.

Snape's reaction startled Irina – he moved so quickly and with a look of such intense fury on his face that she had no time to react. Reaching her, Snape did the unforgivable – he hit her across the face with his fist.

Caught off guard by his sudden attack, Irina was knocked off balance, and she fell, striking her head on his desk. She could feel the blood that started to trickle down the side of her face from a cut above her eye, and struggled to regain her composure before the situation degraded further. Breathing heavily, she watched as Snape froze, mouth agape, horrified at what he had done. It was clear that his actions had thrust him into a different reality, and she had her suspicions which one.

Irina rose, slowly and a little unsteadily. "I am sorry, I should not have said that." She moved forward and touched his arm, but he moved away quickly, unable to face her. She watched him as he withdrew into himself again. "Your father hit you."

Snape looked at her startled, wondering how it was that she seemed to know everything. He nodded. "Is it that obvious?"

"No, but it is not unusual for children treated with violence to become adults that react with violence. The cycle of abuse is difficult to break, but it can be broken." Snape nodded, but Irina wondered if he had truly understood her words – he still seemed disconnected somehow from the reality of the current situation.

Snape watched her closely, waiting for more, waiting perhaps, for an offer of help, or for the punishment he deserved, at least. He was horrified when what little colour she had drained from her cheeks. Moving quickly, he reached her before her legs collapsed under her. Surprised as he was to be suddenly holding Irina's unconscious form, he recovered quickly and carried her carefully from his office to his private chambers and laid her gently on his bed. His anger now replaced by worry.

Horrified at what he had done, knowing only too well the implications of such behaviour, he moved to the fireplace and threw in a pinch of floo powder. "Headmaster, I am afraid we have a problem."


	11. Snape's Technicolour Nightmare

**Chapter 11 – Snape's Technicolour Nightmare**

Snape sat stiffly, waiting for the Headmaster's rebuke. He couldn't remember a time when he had seen Dumbledore so angry, but he was yet to say a word. He simply sat there glaring at Severus, those normally gentle blue eyes piercing into him like swords of blue ice, face drawn into a mask of all encompassing rage, and knuckles turning white as his hands clenched tighter. It was the first time Snape realised exactly why Dumbledore was the only wizard that Voldemort feared. There was a lot to fear, the air around the older wizard seemed to crackle with power so strong that it was almost visible.

"_What the hell were you thinking?_"

Snape flinched.

"_Not only have you actually HIT a fellow Professor, but of all the professors you could have chosen to hit, you HAD to hit HER!_" Dumbledore roared, his voice so full of anger that it seemed to overwhelm Snape's senses. He continued more calmly, but the anger was still evident. "She is _Tsarina_, and now she is lying _unconscious_ in the Hospital Wing. What were you thinking? Of all the foolish…  I hope for your sake that she isn't to badly injured, and that her husband doesn't find out – or do you want your own personal war with the whole of Russia? I would have thought that one war was enough for you." Dumbledore glared at him, slamming his fists down on his desk and continuing before Snape had a chance to respond. "This is exactly the reason she is here Severus. If you treat fellow staff this way, I can only fear for the way you might deal with a student that upsets you."

"Headmaster –"

"_Quiet_! Did I say you could speak?" Dumbledore sat and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself trying to think of a suitable punishment that would be harsh enough to teach the troubled man a lesson, but not harsh enough to break him further. She would know what to do – she was the diplomat. He had grown tired of the continual struggle to guide the young man before him, particularly with the increased activities of the Order and the increased security measures that had been needed to protect Harry – that was why he had been so glad she had been willing to come and help. Now Snape was his problem again.

"I'm sorry Headmaster." Snape hung his head ashamed, no longer able to look at his benefactor.

Dumbledore opened his eyes and regarded the remorseful young man, realising that he would punish himself enough for what he had done, but still too angry to allow him to go without further punishment. He needed Snape to understand just how serious his misdemeanour had been. "Yes, I expect you are, but you aren't half as sorry as you will be. As a result of your behaviour tonight Professor Ivanov _will_ be joining your classes, regardless of your desires, and you are on probation. You would be wise to remember that you are not irreplaceable Severus. One more act like this and you will be out. I will tolerate a lot, as you know, and forgive more, but if you do anything like this again Voldemort can have you."

Snape's head snapped up, and his dark eyes met furious light blue ones. He looked away again, unable to bear the anger and disappointment he had seen. He nodded silently. Not only had he just become his Father, but he had also just signed his own death warrant.

As he left the Headmaster's office, Snape reflected that there were things worse than death, and that Voldemort know them all. He knew only too well that the dark wizard would have no compunction in using them either. Death would, in fact, be the preferred option, if he were unable to control himself in the future.

*

Reaching his chambers, Snape fell wearily into a chair. He looked at his bed, unmade now, the cotton pillowcase stained with the bright scarlet of his victim's fresh blood. He sighed, tiredly, unable to comprehend just how his life had managed to spiral out of control so quickly. Of course, had anyone bothered to care enough (had she?) they would have noticed the obvious – he had been doing too much for too long, and with the return of the Werewolf his burdens were doubled. Now, somewhere in an already full schedule, he had to find time to brew a complicated potion, and even that brought painful memories that were all to quick to invade his psyche.

Sleep deprivation didn't help either. It really wasn't the memories of that night that disturbed him during the full moon, producing errors of judgment that were becoming increasingly dangerous, although those memories rarely left him; it wasn't even the fear of what might or might not happen, if, for some reason, Wolfsbane should fail; it was nightmares of what _had_ happened that caused most of the problems. They haunted his dreams and robbed him of the renewal generally brought by sleep. Three nights of sleeplessness were enough to damage anyone, and his temper was barely in check under the best of circumstances since the Dark Lord's return.

He sighed again, and struggled as sleep tugged at him – he had too much work to do to loose a day. The students were arriving in two weeks and his ingredients were still sitting, unprepared, in his storeroom. He had to admit that an assistant would be valuable over the next couple of days – if she recovered in time of course. Gods, he had struck a woman. The very thought of how low he had fallen, filled him with tension and his heart (did he still have one?) raced. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply in an effort to overcome the anxiety that was racing through him.

*

"Boy! Come here!" 

"Marcus, no."

Severus watched with fear filled eyes as his father turned his attention to his Mother.

"What did you say woman?"

Severus' Mother moved across the room quickly, placing herself between her furious husband and her cowering son. "Go outside Severus. Hurry." She said, quietly but urgently, to him, hoping he would escape before her husband managed to get his hands on him. The brief chance of escape was lost though, because Severus was frozen in fear. Reaching out, she pulled him close behind her instead.

"Marcus, please don't punish him. He is only a small boy. I am sure he will learn to fly; it is not his fault he finds it so difficult. Look at how well he is doing in his other classes. He is doing particularly well in Potions and in Defence."

Marcus Snape snorted, looking at the boy with disdain. "Potions is for poofters. As for Defence, he should be good at it! Besides, the boy should be attending Durmstrang and furthering his knowledge of the Dark Arts, not learning how to protect himself against them – everyone knows the best form of defence is attack. Hogwarts is a girl's school, particularly now that that old fool Dumbledore is running it. How anyone can learn anything there is beyond me."

"I went to Hogwarts, Marcus."

"My point exactly! I suppose I should be glad that he was at least sorted to Slytherin… I can just imagine what Malfoy would say if he had been sorted to, Gods forbid, Gryffindor. This is your doing woman, you are always mollycoddling him. No wonder he is such a weakling. I hear he is even being bullied – no Snape has ever been bullied. Look at what you have done Boy, you have brought my name into disrepute."

"I- I'm sorry Father," Severus whimpered, starting to cry.

"I don't want apologies Boy, I want results. Potters' son is being considered for the Quidditch team, Malfoy is constantly boasting about how well Lucius is doing. All I can do is keep my mouth shut because you are a failure, both as a student and as a son. The day you were born was the proudest day of my life, but that quickly changed. You are such a disappointment that I wish you had never been born, that way I could claim your Mother was barren and breed with far better stock." 

Severus' crying increased.

"Look at him! Cowering like a little girl behind his Mummy. Well, if he thinks that will protect him he has another thing coming. Come here boy and face your punishment like a man."

Severus cried louder.

"I said come here. You won't defy me for long." Moving quickly, before his wife had a chance to react, Marcus Snape reached out and grabbed his son's arm, wrenching it hard and pulling him from what small protection his Mother offered. "I will teach you to cry for nothing." He smiled vindictively, "I will give you something to cry for instead."

Raising his arm, fist closed, he was about to strike the boy when his wife grabbed his arm. "Marcus! I said _no_!"

Caught off guard by his wife's sudden defiance, he paused and released his son.

"Run Severus!" His Mother ordered, desperately, hoping to save her child from the punishment she knew would come.

This time Severus found himself able to comply and he ran to the door. Opening it, he turned before passing through. He was just in time to watch as the blow that was to be his landed on the side of his Mother's head. She fell backwards from her husband, but he grabbed her and prepared to strike again. 

Severus didn't stay to see the second blow. Slamming the door behind him, he ran from the house, the sound of the blood pumping through his veins drowning out the sounds of his Mother's cries for help.

*

Snape woke in a cold sweat, heart racing and breath coming in short, sharp bursts. He had become that monster which he had so desperately feared and so deeply hated. He considered being grateful that this nightmare was different to the one with the glowing eyes that had haunted him for the previous three nights, but he discarded the idea. A nightmare was a nightmare, and even if it came during the day, it still robbed him of the peace that sleep should bring. Nothing would erase the fact that he had struck a woman, and he had done it without the 'justification' of the mark on his arm or the 'protection' of his Death Eater mask.

Controlling himself as best he could, Snape looked around the darkened room. It was obvious he had slept for a long time, even if it had brought him no respite from the weariness that seemed to affect him more and more daily. Preparing to rise, work still to be done, and time rapidly running out, he was suddenly glad of the darkness – it hid the tears that were rolling, unstoppable down his cheeks. He was shocked – he had rarely cried since that night – after witnessing _that_ there had seemed to be very little else to cry about, but now tears were flowing feely down his cheeks. 

Darkness would hide his tears, of course, from any one who cared enough to look, not that he expected anyone would. Caring for him had killed his Mother, and everyone else who had undertaken such a foolish endeavour and he doubted that there would be anyone who would try to again. He was the only one who at least should have cared whether he lived or died, but even he didn't. Death would be a delicious relief.

Rising, he moved easily through his darkened chambers to his office. Familiar surroundings brought him comfort, and now his reluctance to change anything had another benefit – he was able to move freely, unhindered by the darkness. Reaching his desk, he sat heavily and considered where he should begin, not yet willing to illuminate the room.

"I suppose I should be angry with you, but I believe the Headmaster has been angry enough for both of us." A gentle voice came to him from the shadows.

Snape froze, startled by the presence of another, forgetting the tears that were still rolling, unhindered down his cheeks.

"Luminos." A wand, floating happily and unsupported, illuminated the office with a soft light that threw dancing shadows around the walls. "Do not look so frightened, Severus, I am not a ghost." Irina moved forward and regarded the distraught man, noticing, but not commenting on, the tears that glistened on his cheeks. "As you can see, I am perfectly well, except for a small scar which I shall wear as a reminder of our difficulties, or heal at a later time as I see fit."

Surprised by her presence, mesmerised by her appearance, her pale colouring seemed to make her almost glow in the soft light, Snape wondered what her intentions were. He knew perfectly well she could kill him, and be justified in the act, if she wanted to. "You must hate me."

"Hate is such a harsh emotion Severus, what have you done to deserve my hatred?" Her words were sympathetic.

"I upset Remus."

He had learned, perhaps. "Yes, that made me angry with you, it did not make me hate you."

"I hurt you."

She smiled gently. "Yes, but not nearly so much as you think. The Headmaster overreacted a little I am afraid."

Snape looked at Irina confused. "But you collapsed."

"Yes," she admitted, "but I can assure you that it wasn't from your blow, or from striking my head on your desk… It would seem as though one of the delightful fruits I consumed during breakfast was the female fruit of the Samoan Pigwillow."

"They are poisonous." He responded automatically.

Irina smiled ruefully. "So I found out. Herbology was never one of my strong points." She reached up, placed both hands on his cheeks, and gently brushed the glistening streaks away. He seemed so much like a small boy that she almost cried, herself, at what he had endured.

Snape flinched at her gentle touch, but didn't pull away. "I am sorry for my behaviour."

"I know you are," she acknowledged quietly, "but you must still be punished. I have spoken to the Headmaster and asked him not to cast you into the wilderness, but I will still be attending your classes, 'Regardless of your desires.' Those were his words, were they not?"

"Yes."

Irina regarded him carefully. He was so close to lost that there was little she could do but wait and hope he would find his way back. "You know I can help." She offered, knowing he would almost certainly refuse.

"I doubt anyone can help. I must be cursed – anyone who tries to ends up dead." The last words caught in his throat, almost strangling him, and brought tears back to his eyes.

Irina's heart broke for the lost soul. "You might be surprised," she responded softly.

Snape almost smiled. "I am rarely surprised, but I appreciate your offer."

"Tell me why tears are falling, unstoppable down your cheeks."

Snape stiffened and pulled away. "No."

"Are you crying for those that you have lost?"

"No, they are long gone, and for most, death, when it finally came, was a relief." He was watching her now, dark eyes searching for signs that she was making fun of him with her quiet questions.

"Are you crying because you were cruel to Remus?"

Snape snorted, "Hardly, although I will endeavour not to repeat this morning's behaviour."

 "Are you crying because your Father hit you?"

He paused, considering, before answering. "A little."

"Does it haunt you?"

"I have nightmares." The admission embarrassed him and he looked away.

"Always?" 

"Not of that, there are others too."

Irina nodded. "Why now then?"

"I don't know." He answered sullenly

"I think you do."

"No."

His voice had been getting smaller and smaller with each answer, and the last almost evaded her. "Yes." Irina moved forward and wiped the tears away again. "We both know it is because you hit me earlier and you are scared that you have become the beast that he was." She stopped there, waiting for his reaction.

"I killed him." Snape fell to his knees, stricken, shaking, body wracked by sobs, tears falling in torrents now, no longer able to face the gentle interrogation.

If Irina had been surprised by his admission, he never knew, she hid it so well. Instead of being shocked by Snape's words and pulling away, she moved forward and took his trembling body in her arms, accepting him, and his crime, without judgement. She was surprised when he leaned further into her embrace.

Irina, the woman, was almost joyous at the sudden destruction of the walls he had built up, but Irina the healer was less convinced. She knew perfectly well that this moment of turmoil would pass and he would most likely return to his protective shell in the freshness of a new day. For the moment though, he just needed to be held. Snape was far too damaged by his past for this small step to be anything more than the first of many on a long journey to recovery, and Irina was astute enough to know that most of the time he wouldn't even _want_ to take the next step. The journey would be long and difficult, but every journey started with the first step, and Severus Snape had just taken his.

Snape hung his head and wept bitter tears, grateful for the comfort Irina offered. He shivered as she stroked his hair, unwilling and almost unable to believe she meant to help him.

"It was your first time. It can be your last. I will help you whether you wish me to or not, and there will be times when you will not. It will change from day to day, even sometimes from minute to minute, but I will not give up on you."

Snape nodded, and wept some more, unable to control the outpouring of emotion. He was a lost soul, just relieved to be able to enjoy the momentary safety and comfort of someone's embrace. He had been a drowning man, but now someone had thrown him a lifeline, and, for the moment, that would be enough.

Irina held him and continued to stroke his hair until the last of his sobs subsided and he fell against her exhausted. "Come Severus, you need to sleep. Let me take you to bed." She suggested quietly.

"No," he choked out, "I can't."

"Yes, you can. You need to."

"I can't, there is far too much work to do, and far too little time to do it in."

"We will have time to catch up tomorrow." Irina knew that was only half of the problem. The other half was that he feared what would happen when he allowed sleep to take over his consciousness. "I promise you will not dream."

Snape looked at her, then nodded, and Irina stood and helped him to his feet. They moved slowly back to his private chambers, with her wand bobbing gently away, illuminating the path, never more than a foot in front of them.

"Do you wish to change?"

Snape sat heavily on the bed, and Irina noticed he was still shaking. He looked up. "I don't think I can, but I will be fine like this. It isn't the first time I have slept in my robes, and it probably won't be the last."

Irina watched him quietly as she considered using the Adornus charm she had used on Remus earlier that day. She discarded the idea quickly, the charm she intended to use to clear his mind of dreams was Russian, and had no English equivalent. While it was extremely powerful, it was also extremely temperamental, and using it in combination with other charms often had unpredictable results.

Snape dropped his head into his hands, and his body shook with more huge sobs. "I'm sorry," he tried, "I just can't seem to stop. I – I don't know what is wrong."

"It is called exhaustion Severus." Irina answered softly. "People have expected far too much from you for far to long. Dumbledore recognised the signs and sent for me, hoping I might be able to help because of my skills in Potions and in healing."

Snape nodded. "But he said he was going to return me to the Dark Lord."

Irina laughed. "Do you really think he would do such a thing? He allowed his anger to overwhelm him - that is all. I am sure you will be forgiven by tomorrow, if you have not been already."

"But –"

"Quiet." Irina took his shoulders and forced him backwards. "You need to rest. Things will be better for you in the morning."  
  


"I'm –"

"Shhh," Irina brushed the hair from Snape's face, and gently wiped away the tears that were sitting on his cheeks. "Close your eyes."

Snape looked at her, and then did as he was told. He tried to relax as her hand ran soothingly across his forehead.

"It will be alright. Go to sleep."

Exhausted, emotionally and physically, Snape was unable to stop sleep from embracing him again. The last thing he was aware of was her wand being placed lightly to his temple, and her softly accented voice speaking words in her own language that he didn't understand.


	12. The Healer's Gift

**Chapter 12 – The Healer's Gift**

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Author's Note: Thanks to those who are reviewing. I really appreciate it. When you only get one or two reviews from regular reviewers you begin to wonder what the point is (relax though Ana and Snapefan51, I am not planning on quitting this). More reviews means more encouragement to spend time on this rather than other things.

Special thanks to Ana Morales and Snapefan51 for their regular reviews. 

Snapefan51: Sorry, I should have warned you. Albus was angry, but it was brief. He was quite worried, after all. Look for an explanation about a lot of things in this chapter.

Ana: Thanks for your emails.

KniteKat: Snape is lost in this. I think the stress is getting to him and I hope that shows. Irina _will_ eventually get through to him, but if it is before it is too late is another matter. There is some major drama ahead for Snape. Harry doesn't so much respect Snape, he will continue to hate him, but he realises how important he is to the light, but there will be more about that later. As for whether you find out about Snape's other wounds, the answer is yes. Does Remus? I haven't decided yet, but it isn't planned at this stage. It may happen though.

Zippy Zany: I could tell you who she is, but that would spoil the surprise.

RandiWeasley: Please breathe :) Hope you are still enjoying this

Thank you to everyone else who has reviewed.

Anyway, I haven't said this yet, but only Irina is mine, everyone else belongs to JKR. 

I have said this though…. Uni has started and I am snowed under. I will try to update fortnightly, but I can't promise anything. I WILL finish this. It just might take a while. If you would like an email when I update send me an email to frogfoot24@hotmail.com and I will take care of it.

Thanks everyone. Please read, enjoy and review. Hope you like this. Warning: I haven't been as pedantic about this chapter as I normally am. I don't have time to read it 10 times, and I haven't had a chance to check any canon references. Please forgive any minor mistakes, and feel free to slap me for major ones!

*****

****

Snape opened his eyes rather slowly, reluctant to give up the most peaceful night of sleep he could remember ever having. She had promised he would be free from nightmares, and he had been. For the first time since Harry Potter's arrival at Hogwarts, and Voldemort's return, he felt thoroughly rested. 

Memories of the previous day lurked at the edges of his awareness, but he did his best to ignore them – the last thing he wanted, was for them to cloud a new one. Stretching languidly, Snape sat up and realised he was famished – he hadn't eaten anything at all the previous day. Rising, he bathed and dressed before leaving his chambers for the Great Hall.

*

Snape looked at Remus. "I may have been a little harsh yesterday." If anyone in the hall had expected more, if they had expected him to apologise, they were to be disappointed, because he said nothing else. He simply moved to a vacant seat and started to eat, while the others in attendance thew questioning looks at one another while they finished their own meals. No one, not even Dumbledore, knew what had happened after the Snape had been disciplined the previous day.

As Snape was the last to arrive, he was the last to finish eating, and most of the staff had departed before he had completed his meal. He ate slowly and deliberately, aware that there was only one staff member lingering. Irina seemed to be waiting for him, she seemed to be waiting to speak with him, and he hoped for nothing more than that she would become bored, give up, and leave. It was his turn to be disappointed though – she did nothing of the sort – instead, she remained, seemingly content to watch him in silence.

"Is there a reason that I must remain burdened with your presence?" Snape asked, picking up his goblet of pumpkin juice.

Irina looked at him startled, she had expected his demeanour to change from one day to the next, but she hadn't expected such an immediate reversal. "I was just wondering how you were feeling."

"I am fine – is there any reason why I shouldn't be?" Snape's voice was cool, just inviting her to step over the line.

"Last night -"

"Last night was a mistake. I allowed myself the luxury of loosing control, in what should have been the privacy of my own chambers." Snape lowered his voice, threateningly. "I can assure you that it will not happen again, and that you will regret it if what happened becomes general knowledge."

Irina paled. "I – I would never speak of such things."

"Good." Draining his goblet, Snape rose and stalked from the room, leaving Irina alone to contemplate the intensity of his mood swing.

*

Irina knocked on the door to Snape's office. 

"Enter." The door opened and she stepped inside. "Oh, it's you." He glanced at her, at least she had had the sense to dress appropriately. For the first time, she had worn something other than her customary, elaborate, white robes. This time she was wearing simple robes of a soft, light blue material, that fell gently around her like water.

He moved past her, into his classroom, and pointed to a seat. "Sit down there and say nothing. I won't tolerate disturbances. I can assure you that I am not particularly happy at the arrangement, but I acknowledge that I have little choice but to accept your scrutiny. If you remain quiet and don't interfere, I am sure we will get along splendidly."

Irina nodded and did as she was told. The last thing she wanted was to inflame the situation further, and she was quite content to simply observe if that was what he desired.

Snape worked quickly and purposefully, his elegant fingers wielding his preparation knife with the precision of a skilled Potions Master. He worked without speaking or even acknowledging Irina's presence, preferring to focus, instead on the task at hand.

Irina watched with rapt attention, she was qualified as a Potions Mistress, but Snape was clearly at a level above any she had ever observed, but then he always had been. One thing surprised her though; he manipulated the knife in his left hand. It was customary for a wizard or witch to use their wand hand, in most cases the right hand. It was a simple discrepancy and she wondered at the reason for his change. "Severus, I was wondering why you use your left hand to cut?"

Snape looked up and glared at her. "While you are in my class, if you must speak at all, I would prefer that you address me as Professor Snape. It isn't enough that I must be burdened with your presence while I work; now I must put up with further disruptions. I told you to keep quiet, but as you have seen fit to distract me, I will answer your question."

Irina waited.

"You are correct that _most_ people prefer to use their dominant hand to control the knife, but I would have thought that you had realised that I am not most people. The actual reason from my change is none of your business." Snape returned his attention to his ingredients and resumed the task of finely chopping the scarab wings. It was clear that he wasn't going to speak further on the matter.

Watching him, Irina understood where his nervous exhaustion came from – he worked like a man possessed. Lunch came and went, but he didn't stop. Afternoon tea arrived and still she couldn't convince him to take a break. When the house elves arrived with dinner, Irina finally spoke more insistently. "Severus, please! You must stop and eat."

Looking up from his task, already wearing a look of weariness again, Snape glared at Irina for her continued informality, as much as for the interruption. Seeing the food that had been delivered, though, he softened a little. Normally he would have been irate that food had been brought into his classroom, potions ingredients and food seldom mixed, but he had to admit he was quite hungry, and in desperate need of a break. "Perhaps it is time to eat," he acknowledged, grudgingly.

Wiping his preparation knife clean, he moved to the sink and washed his hands. Irina wasn't surprised that they were shaking again. Moving across the room, Snape picked up a tray, inspected its contents with disinterest, before sitting to eat.

They ate in silence, and when they were finished, the house elves removed the remains. 

Snape contemplated Irina carefully – surely she had something better to do with her time than spend it spying on him. "I don't need a nursemaid. Surely your time could be better spent preparing for your own classes."

"My preparations are complete." Irina answered quietly.

Of course they were! Snape picked up his knife, glanced at her again, but said nothing. Moving back to his desk, he resumed the task of finely chopping the skin of the Golden Anaconda. 

It was a painstaking process, far too involved for students. Irina, herself, had only performed the task twice, once as a student, and once for her qualification exam. Generally, if it was needed, she was in a position to purchase it prepared. It was expensive and of slightly inferior quality, to that which Snape was now producing, but it easily fulfilled its purpose. Irina generally limited herself to potions that required far less exotic ingredients, and she wondered just which potion he would be teaching that would need it.

Preparation required skill and concentration. First the skin had to be split along the line of the third, fifth and seventh scales, then each strip had to be cut again, at certain points which were often only marked by subtle scale changes. After that, the process was relatively easy. It generally took an hour at least to properly prepare the skin for the final chop – Snape's quick fingers finished it in 40 minutes. 

Irina watched in awed silence as he commenced the mundane chore of chopping the individual pieces of skin into small slithers, then she allowed her attention to wander from the Potions Master to his classroom. Everything was neat and well ordered, but that didn't surprise her. Order brought control, and control was clearly important to the dark haired man. Probably because he had so little of it over his own life, Irina thought sadly. She paid Snape little heed, having come to realise the futility of her continued presence hours before, until she heard a sharp intake of breath, and an even sharper curse.

Turning quickly, she saw the stain of blood on his knife and his hand was covered with a white cloth. "You have cut yourself!" 

"How very observant of you." Snape snapped back, tersely.

"May I help you?" Irina offered quietly.

"I will be fine momentarily."

Irina nodded, and then an odd thought struck her. "You don't cut with a protective charm?!"

Snape shook his head. "No, it slows me down and makes precision difficult."

"So does the loss of a finger."

He glared at her.

Irina ignored the look he gave her and studied him carefully. His face was drawn. "There is something else bothering you."

Snape looked away. "He called," he admitted.

"Vold-"

"_Yes!_ Who else? Don't ever say his name in my presence!"

"I am sorry."

Snape nodded and sat. 

Irina looked at him, even more worried. The cloth he was holding over his wound had changed from white to blood red too quickly for the injury it was hiding to be small. "Please, let me help."

Snape glared at Irina again, wondering why she always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, but the look didn't really carry the normal level of disdain. Sighing, he nodded slightly.

Knowing that he would never ask for her help, and that a nod was the best she could hope for under the circumstances, Irina moved quickly to him and gently pried his hand away before removing the covering to the wound. She blanched as she looked at the damage done – he had almost severed his finger.

"Don't over react woman. It is nothing." He hissed.

"Fool! You have almost removed the finger."

Snape looked down and regarded his wound for the first time. "Oh…. How interesting." He breathed.

"Does it hurt?" Irina couldn't believe she had just asked that.

"Not as badly as Crucio."

Irina looked at him sympathetically. "I am sorry."

"Damn it."

"I-"

Snape shook his head, praying to the Gods that she wouldn't apologise again. "No, not you. _Him._"

"You must go?"

"So it would seem."

Irina nodded. "First, let me heal this. Do you have time?"

Snape shrugged, non-committally.

Irina drew his damaged hand gently towards her. "This may hurt."

"Surprise me."

Holding the damaged right hand in her left hand, Irina reached up to Snape's elbow, and with a look of intense concentration, she slowly drew her hand downwards. 

Snape could feel a little wave of skin moving along just in front of her fingers. He watched in fascination – a healer's gift was a rare one, and he had only seen it in action on one other occasion, and even then it had been an untrained healer. He shuddered and pushed the memory aside.

Irina looked at him and managed to capture his eyes. "This _will_ hurt." Her hand was just above his wound.

Snape nodded.

Moving her hand slowly, muttering an incantation under her breath, Irina felt Snape stiffen as the skin slug bridged the gap in the nearly-severed finger, and the bone and flesh healed within. He didn't utter a sound, even though Irina knew perfectly well how painful it must have been. Satisfied, she laid her hand over his to seal the spell, before releasing it.

"Thank you."

Irina was surprised to receive thanks, but said nothing of it. "Is he still calling?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"I felt it."

Snape nodded, understanding.

"May I see it?"

Snape looked sharply up at her. "Why?"

"I have heard a great deal about it, but have never seen it."

Snape looked at her, considering her answer. Their eyes met. He was searching for something that he seemed to find, so he nodded.

Slowly, with a newly healed finger that didn't quite respond as normal, he undid the row of small buttons at his wrist, and pulled his sleeve up to reveal the angry mark he bore on his forearm. He was surprised when she didn't gasp and pull away, as she had in the forest. This time Irina did the reverse. She stepped forward and studied it closely before doing the unthinkable. She took the hand on that damaged arm and traced the mark gently with her finger, before laying her palm against it.

Snape pulled away. "Don't."

"Forgive me."

Snape nodded briefly, stood, and walked away, re-buttoning his robes as he went, his finger quickly returning to normal.

"You are not afraid of dying; you only fear what he may ask you to do."

Snape hesitated, considering her words. As he reached the door, he paused again but didn't turn. "I began using my left hand when I turned from him. When I realised what my commitment meant, I feared I might be tempted to try and remove the blight."

Irina was both stunned and horrified. Watching the door close behind him, she pulled the sleeve of her robes up and traced the pattern of the Dark Mark on her own pale skin, smiling, satisfied, as the mark faded – _that_ had been easier than she had expected.

*

Irina watched as Snape walked slowly towards the Forbidden Forest. She wondered how he could go off willingly, fearing not for his life, but for the crimes he might be forced to commit. She sighed. And they said that Gryffindors had all the courage!

Bold, brash Gryffindor courage hardly compared to the quiet, unheralded courage of the darkly clad man, now rapidly disappearing, who went off to face death again and again without complaint. Unfortunately, in this world, at least, what he did now was considered penance for what he had done in the past, and Irina knew all too well that no matter how heroic his current exploits were, they would never be enough to repay the world for the cowardly, vile mistakes he had made in his youth. He would never earn forgiveness from the world at large – not in this lifetime, nor in the next. Snape would, sadly, have to settle for far less.

Turning from the window, subduing the pain that had crept into her heart, Irina made her way to Snape's desk and finished preparing the ingredients he had laid out. At least she could do something tangible to help him. It would be one less thing for him to worry about when he returned.

*

Dumbledore looked at Irina. "Lemon drop My Dear?" he asked, offering a tin of small, yellow sweets.

Irina smiled. "No, thank you Headmaster, the tea shall be sufficient." She took a sip of sweet, white tea and waited for him to continue. Tea was such a quaint English custom, bearing little resemblance to 'tea' in Russia. In England it meant little sandwiches and cakes, gentle conversations and afternoons. In Russia, well… Irina closed her eyes and tried to ignore the feeling of separation.

"How was your first day with Severus?"

The look Irina gave the Headmaster was as enigmatic as that which Mona Lisa had worn for Leonardo. "I believe the correct term would be educational."

"Yes," Dumbledore returned her smile. "And where, may I ask, is my dark child now?"

Irina looked away. "You may ask, but I am afraid I am unable to answer." She paused, knowing only too well, the effect her next words would have. "He was called."

Dumbledore looked at her crestfallen.

Irina had expected this. Dumbledore's anger at the Potions Master had passed quickly, and she knew he cared for his prodigal son as much, if not more, than he did for those that had not strayed – his loyalty being more appreciated because he had risked so much to return.

"He didn't tell me." Dumbledore's words were quiet.

"No."

Dumbledore looked hurt at this, and Irina stood and moved to him. "I am sure he would have if he had had the time." She paused, placing her hand encouragingly on his shoulder. "Relax, Albus, he will return to you. He was exhausted and overwhelmed by his work, and his weariness made him lash out. That is all. He understands that your anger and disappointment were only transitory."

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "If only that were true… I fear that I have done the one thing I promised I never would – I threatened to cast him out."

"He understands, I am sure."

"Does he? I have never been that angry with him before. When he first returned to us, he understood that I was disappointed in his choices and disbelieving, but I accepted him back, regardless. This time I have pushed him away, and I fear it might be forever." Dumbledore moved to his desk and sat. "I have not spoken of this, of what brought Severus back, or why I accepted and trusted him so completely, to anyone. Alastor understands a little of what happened, but only I know the complete story. If you are willing, I would like to explain it to you. It may make it easier for you to understand my concern… and to help him."

"I will listen."

Dumbledore almost smiled at her. Sometimes Russianness seemed to lie heavily upon her words. "It is a long story I am afraid, and beginning is difficult. There are many mistakes I would prefer to forget."

Irina nodded, encouragingly. "Please continue."

Dumbledore started speaking, his words coming slowly. "Severus' redemption began long before Voldemort's downfall, but it ended that night. Many months before, I had received a parchment anonymously. The writer asked to meet me in the Forbidden Forest. At first, I thought it was one of Voldemort's tricks, and Alastor advised me to ignore it. Against his better judgment, I decided to attend, and as you can imagine, I was surprised to meet Severus. He admitted everything – he had become a Death Eater just prior to leaving school, there were other things too, but they are of little importance to this story. I shall just say that he had always been tormented as a student, a fact which I wholly overlooked, but something happened towards the end of his time here, from which he found it impossible to recover." 

Dumbledore paused, and looked at Irina. "I have sworn never to speak of that, and I would like to keep that promise if you don't mind?"

Irina nodded her acceptance.

"He told me everything, every grim detail of his crimes, and everything he knew that might have helped us. He warned me of what Voldemort had planned. Some of the information he gave me was information we had already gathered from other sources, and I was suspicious of his intentions. It was still quite possible that it was some kind of trap. You must remember that we were in the middle of a war at the time… still, I was a fool not to trust him."

Dumbledore stopped and closed his eyes. Irina could see quite clearly that it was painful for him to discuss these things.

"After that first meeting, notes would arrive periodically, almost always giving information about planned attacks. Of course, because I was wary of his intentions, I generally disregarded his information, even though, in most cases, it turned out to be accurate. The only times when it wasn't, was when Voldemort changed his plans after the parchment had been sent. It must have been terribly dangerous for him, I realise that now, but I never acted."

"I should have realised he was sincere in his desire to turn from the path of darkness, but I am afraid my judgement was clouded because he was a Slytherin. I admit I was quite xenophobic at the time."

Dumbledore stood and paced, restlessly around the room. He was clearly uncomfortable, and Irina was surprised – he seemed so in control of events that she couldn't imagine anything making him uncomfortable.

"I have told no one the remainder of the story. No one understands why I trust him so absolutely. You must give me your word that you will not speak of this to anyone else."

Irina looked him in the eyes, unblinking. "I shall not speak of anything you have told me tonight."

Dumbledore nodded, accepting Irina's word. "As I said, I rarely acted on the information he provided, and I am sure he knew that. I think he must have realised I doubted his sincerity, even after nearly a year. I can be a foolish and stubborn old man when I choose." 

Dumbledore paused again, as he returned to his desk and sat heavily, the weight of the world on his shoulders. Removing a key from around his neck, he unlocked his desk draw, removing a neatly folded parchment. He held it out to Irina, and she took it curiously. "That was his last message."

Irina unfolded the note carefully, unsure of what to expect. "Headmaster, we must meet tonight." Irina read the date and froze, the parchment almost falling from her suddenly numb fingers. It was the night of Voldemort's downfall; the night of the Lily and James Potter's death.

Dumbledore continued quietly, and a little sadly. "I see that you understand. You understand what it means and you understand the rest, but I will tell you so there will be no confusion." 

Irina nodded silently, barely able to breathe.

"We met as usual, but he seemed terribly agitated and it was unusual. I asked him what was bothering him, and he told me that Voldemort was to attack Lily and James Potter – he wanted their small son. The plan was that there would be a major Death Eater attack to draw attention away from those being guarded by Aurors, and that Voldemort would attack the Potters alone." 

Dumbledore stopped, and looked away from the woman regarding him. When he continued his voice was subdued. "I didn't believe him; the Potters had been living under the Fidelus Charm since Harry, their son, had been born. I had received a prophecy you see, there were two children affected by it, and both were under heavy protection. For a number of reasons though, it was always likely to be Harry that suffered from the prophetic events that occurred. 

"I realised Severus was sincere in bringing me this information, his whole demeanour showed how concerned he was, after all, he had a life debt to James from something that happened when he was a student. The only problem was that I was sure they were safe. Even I had no idea where they were. Of course, I could have made arrangements for their increased protection; steps to contact or protect them were in place, but I wasn't willing to accept that Voldemort knew of their location. I needed proof, I needed to know how he knew, but of course Severus was unable to tell me these things. I should never have doubted him, not on that, but doubt him I did. I was sure Voldemort had sent him with false information this time, and that certainty was my undoing. 

"We were arguing about this when Alastor brought news of the attack. I watched Severus, even as my own pain struck, and the look in his eyes was indescribable – there was more pain in those two dark orbs than I believed existed in the world. He had failed; he had attempted to do the honourable thing and failed. From that moment I have never doubted him. He had risked his life to bring me information and I ignored it. He looked so lost. I realised then, that he had nothing left, that he was empty, and I knew I couldn't just walk away from that, so I offered him a chance at redemption. As Alastor had brought the news, I told Severus he would be safe if he trusted me. 

"He trusted me immediately, not that he had much choice – Voldemort may have been gone, but the Death Eaters remained, and that put him in great danger unless we were careful. Alastor was to capture him – that explains some of the animosity there is between them – and he would be sent to Azkaban for a brief time to protect his cover. All captured Death Eaters were sent to Azkaban; he was clearly worried about this, after all how would he survive with such little happiness in his life to begin with, but he trusted me when I said his stay would be brief. I am horrified to admit that it ended up being almost a year before we could arrange for his release. He has been teaching Potions here ever since, and I have trusted him implicitly. He may have some less than desirable teaching methods, but he has never failed me, willingly or otherwise."

Dumbledore looked up again, and was surprised to find Irina leaning heavily on a chair. Standing, he moved quickly to her. "My Dear, are you ill again?" He asked concerned.

Irina shook her head, and then looked at him, and he was even more surprised to see her eyes full of tears. "I am sorry Headmaster," her words were quiet, "I never realised how difficult things had been for both of you." Irina straightened and took a deep breath, calming herself. "Nothing you have told me tonight suggests that Severus might turn from your protection though."

Dumbledore sighed, "Oh, but it does. You see, I betrayed him that night, I saw it in his eyes, and when he came here I promised I would never betray him again. Until yesterday I had managed to keep that promise, but now I have gone and undone everything with one foolish mistake. How can he trust me when I threaten him with such punishment? Best case scenario is that he feels less than useless again and does something foolish that ends up getting him killed – I can't bear to think of what might happen in the worst case."

Irina moved to the window and gazed out, hoping the Headmaster's fears would not come to pass.


	13. In the Snake's Pit

**Chapter 13 – In the Snake Pit**

Author's Note: Sorry about the delay in getting this chapter up. School has been getting in the way, but I am trying to do a little each night so that the breaks between postings don't drag out forever.

I am glad you are enjoying this… but then you wouldn't keep reading if you didn't would you? :) Thanks for the reviews. They made my day. I was quite pleased with the last chapter and it seems as though you were too.

This chapter is a touching Voldie/Snape chapter. Hope you like it. Please read and review, I really appreciate your comments.

Thank you again to my regular reviewers, you help me to keep going. 

Cheers.

*****

Voldemort smiled at his gathering of loyal and perhaps not so loyal followers. One was missing. He had been disappointed by Karkaroff's departure from the fold, but it hadn't been unanticipated – Karkaroff was a weakling and a coward, but he had fulfilled a purpose for a time. Many of his followers had paid the price for his disappointment at the wizard's departure. He was more concerned, though, at the Potions Master's recent behaviour, and he hoped the young man wasn't having second thoughts about his allegiance too.

Voldemort was worried that working so closely with the old man may have been affecting his judgement. Only time would tell, but his continued failure to fulfil the role assigned, to spy on Dumbledore and his damned Order, was beginning to worry him.

Quietly, almost without notice, a darkly clad man in a sweeping black cloak emerged from the shadows. He was always quiet. "Ahh, the spy has returned." The snake-like man enthused with a sibilant hiss.

If Snape hadn't been so sure his position was still safe, he would have stiffened, and as it was it took a second for his heart to beat again. He moved forward and knelt, head bowed, in front of his master, waiting for either acceptance or punishment, not entirely sure which would come.

Voldemort laid his hand on Snape's head, with the gentleness of a father; not Snape's own, he reflected. He loved the dark haired man before him like a son, recognising in him the same pain he had experienced from his own childhood, and he had been glad when the young man had approached him, happy to accept the still young, but extraordinarily powerful and knowledgeable, wizard into the fold.

Voldemort thought back to those early days – Severus had held such promise, he had been so desperate to please and so desperate for any type of acceptance, that it had been easy to bend his will. Something had died in him though, long ago, even before his fall, and there was an emptiness in his eyes that he feared might one day seal the young man's fate. He hoped Snape's loyalty wasn't wavering – he would hate to lose him, but he would hate to kill him more.

"Rise Severus."

*

Snape rose, painfully slowly, still not entirely sure that some form of punishment would not be forthcoming, but controlling the worry that it caused so that it wouldn't give his dark master an opening into his mind.

Voldemort studied him and Snape stiffened, but the Dark Lord was smiling, so he relaxed. Things couldn't be that bad could they?

Voldemort gathered his strength. He had been waiting for an opportunity such as this, to try out his new skill. Now they were all together, and he finally had a chance to play. Rising, he considered the impact of what he was about to do. He smiled wider, and Snape shuddered. If Voldemort was that happy, whatever was going to happen couldn't be good.

"Crucio."

Voldemort watched as his death eaters reacted, as one, to the unforgivable curse. Some fell to the ground, writhing in pain; others, the stronger of the group, remained standing, but cried out, in shock, at its onset. The weakest did both – fell and cried like babies. Only one remained standing, seemingly unaffected by the curse. Snape, neither cringed, nor fell, nor even gasped. He simply stood, stoically, watching his master, and waited for the pain to pass, as he knew it would, eventually.

Voldemort ended the spell, and waited for his followers to recover. "Leave us." He commanded. Snape turned to leave with his fellow Death Eaters, but Voldemort stopped him. "No, Severus, I wish you to stay." Snape hung his head and waited while the others left the hall.

Bellatrix entered after the last of the Death Eaters had dragged themselves from their master, bodies still aching after his little game. Moving calmly, she passed Snape, her once beautiful face set in a sneer almost equal to his own. "You never thanked me for taking care of Black for you, Severus. I would have thought that your gratitude would have been more evident."

Snape remained silent, but nodded slightly; in acknowledgement of the 'favour' the dark haired woman had done him.

Voldemort studied Snape carefully. He was always surprised at how much control the young man had. Pain barely affected him, but given his background, that was hardly a surprise. "Did you like my little trick Severus?"

"Yes Master." Snape responded mechanically, still looking at the floor.

"I see you recovered quickly from our last meeting."

"Yes Master." Snape mumbled.

"Look at me!" Voldemort commanded, "and don't mumble."

Reluctantly, Snape raised his eyes to look at the Dark Lord.

Voldemort truly enjoyed dishing punishment out to those that failed him. He also enjoyed hurting his followers for any reason he chose, but Snape was his favourite victim – he was a most enjoyable target because he enjoyed seeing just how far he could push the Potions Master. Snape normally stood up to punishment well, but the look in his eyes told Voldemort that something was amiss. Had he pushed too far last time? Had he been a little over enthusiastic? Clearly Snape had survived, so the damage could not have been that bad.

"Fortunately, Master, yes."

Voldemort couldn't ignore the subtle tone of rebuke in Snape's voice. "I don't like your tone, Severus, you would be wise to remember who you are speaking to." He reached out quickly, and struck Snape across the face, splitting his lip open and drawing blood.

"Yes Master." Snape mumbled again, as blood ran from his rapidly swelling lip.

Bellatrix looked on, silently wondering how far Voldemort would push Snape this time. She had tried, again and again, only to fail, again and again, to make Snape understand that it was his tolerance of pain that made Voldemort enjoy hurting him so much. She knew, from her own experiences, that punishment was only continued until a person was broken. Snape had never been broken, but then he had never been killed either. Bellatrix knew, only too well, that death was the point that Snape's remarkable control would fail him. Voldemort knew too, and hated the fact that he would have to kill his favourite toy to prove he had full control.

"Master, I have news." Ever since the events in the Department of Mysteries, ever since she had killed Black, and fought by Voldemort's side against the members of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, Ballatrix had been in a position of favour amongst the Death Eaters. It had helped that so many of the Dark Lord's more favoured followers had been captured and incarcerated in Azkaban, and she was enjoying her new found position of power.

Voldemort turned from his contemplation of the Potions Master. "Yes, Bellatrix?" His snake-like characteristics made him draw out the last syllable of her name with an annoying hiss.

Bellatrix smiled, knowing how pleased Voldemort would be with her. "Everything is arranged." She smiled, watching Snape. "The prisoners will be freed tonight."

Snape didn't react – years of spying had trained him well in the art of maintaining a calm exterior, regardless of the turmoil that he felt inside. That Azkaban was insecure was not a surprise. That those that had been captured that night, in the Department of Mysteries were going to be freed so quickly was.

"Excellent." Came the Dark Lord's increasingly annoying sibilant response. "You may leave us."

Bellatrix bowed. "As you wish, Master," she answered, with what Snape thought was a slightly annoyed edge.

Voldemort returned his attention to Snape and waited while Bellatrix withdrew. "Well, Severus, Tell me about the new Defence teacher. You have been working closely with her have you not?"

Snape's insides went cold and his control nearly faltered. How much did Voldemort already know? His task would be far harder if there was another in place to spy on the activities at Hogwarts. He would have to tread carefully and tell only the truth, or at least as little of the truth as he could get away with. It would be a fine line that he walked.

"Her name is Irina Ivanov." Voldemort's eyes glowed with recognition, but Snape continued. "She is Tsarina of the Russian Wizarding Federation."

Voldemort's face lit up with almost child-like glee. "So it is true! What the Raven told-." Voldemort stopped abruptly, horrified at what he had just admitted. It would be an interesting test of Snape's loyalty, to see how long that information took to get back to Dumbledore.

"Yes, Master. She is to teach Defence, with the Auror and the Werewolf, and she is to _assist_ me in Potions." He sneered, "I believe her true rule though, is to keep an eye on me and to report back to the old fool."

"And where is she now?"

"She watched me prepare ingredients all morning, and I expect she reported to Dumbledore the minute I left."

Voldemort watched Snape closely, as he considered this new information. It made Snape tense, and waiting forced him to make his second mistake for the night.

"She is a Healer." Snape blurted out, inwardly wincing. What had compelled him to say that?

Voldemort seemed particularly interested in that information. "Is she indeed?"

Snape swallowed the lump of disgust that rose in his throat. "Yes Master."

"How do you know this?"

True healers were rare, and to have one working for the Light, was a bonus, but his loose tongue had just lost them that advantage. Healers were different to Mediwitches and Mediwizards – that was a skill that could be learned, but true healers were often capable of producing the most powerful magic. It was a fortunate thing that they chose to use their powers for healing – no one would be able to defeat a healer that chose to use their powers for ill. Not even Voldemort, and he knew it. True healers could put a stopper in death with little more than a touch, and he knew from experience how valuable that particular skill could be.

"She healed me." Snape answered quietly.

Voldemort moved forward and touched the dribble of blood that was sliding from the cut in Snape's lip. Snape tensed at his touch, as the fingers wandered from his lip to his cheek. "Speak up Severus, I didn't hear you."

"I told you she healed me!" He exclaimed, voice shrill, as he pulled away. The last thing he needed was the horror of the dreams that that touch would bring back. He swallowed, and almost choked, realising what he had done, and waited for his punishment. He would be dead if he couldn't control himself better than that.

"Explain." Voldemort's voice was quiet and dangerous.

"I cut myself, she healed me." Snape responded simply.

"Now, Severus, there must be more than that, for you to be so uptight. Tell me the truth."

Snape glared at Voldemort, then dropped his gaze. Defiance wasn't a good thing to exhibit around Voldemort. He sighed. "Last time you punished me, I was only one step from the veil." Snape wondered if he had just seen Voldemort stiffen. "She found me in the forest." He finished quietly.

Voldemort looked up sharply. Surely he hadn't injured the dark haired man that severely? "Severus…" He reached out.

"Don't bother apologising, unless you are sorry," Snape spat before he had the chance to bite off his own tongue. He fell to his knees. "Forgive me Master. I am a fool to be angry with you. I am yours to do as you wish with. You have given me so much I shall follow you until the day I give my life for you."

Voldemort regarded Snape with suspicion. "Yes, Severus, you are a fool, but just this once, I will overlook that fact and let you live, because I care for you."

Snape didn't like his dark master's tone of voice when he said 'care'. He shuddered at the implication.

"Let me see your arm."

"Master?"

"Are you having difficulties understanding me Severus? I said let me see your arm."

Ice ran through Snape's veins. To bare the mark, even to the one that placed it there was like baring his soul to the devil. Well, he thought, that was almost exactly what it was. He had shown it to that damned woman, and she had understood, or at least seemed to, but then she had gone and touched it. Now, his Master, his owner, wished to see the thing that joined them all, and would send them all to hell.

Severus nodded, desperate to control the fear that was rising in him before it became panic. With fingers that trembled he undid the row of small buttons at the cuff, almost deciding that a change in attire might be necessary. He could feel Voldemort's eyes on him. It wasn't the thought of being watched by the snake-man that worried him, though, it was the feeling of expectation that emanated from him that froze Snape to the core. Voldemort was expecting something, and Snape didn't know what it was, or how to stop him from getting it. His uncertainty threw him. Pulling his sleeve up, Snape turned his forearm up to display his mark to his master. 

"She touched my mark?"

"Yes." Snape croaked, unable to say more.

Anger rose, quickly, in Voldemort. His mark had been tarnished! "Fool." He roared, "it belongs to me, and no one else! How dare you let my enemy touch my mark?" Voldemort hit him, again, but this time he used a closed fist. Snape reeled from the blow, stars invading his vision. "Crucio."

Snape hissed as the pain commenced, but he managed to remain standing, even as stars threatened his consciousness. Voldemort liked that. The dark haired man certainly was fun to play with. He watched as the blood drained from Snape's face, and quickly withdrew the spell before he could fall. He didn't intend to kill him, not yet at least.

Voldemort contemplated his pale skin of Snape's forearm for a moment, before taking his hand, considerably less tenderly than she had. He, too, ran his fingers over the mark, tracing the dark lines in Snape's skin, just as she had, before laying his hand flat upon it. Snape froze in fear. Voldemort smiled, "Leave me."

"Yes, Master." Snape answered, only too happy to leave his violent master. Withdrawing from the hall, remembering the gleam in Voldemort's eyes as he had laid his hand against the dark mark, Snape had a feeling that something terribly wrong had just happened.


	14. Severus Snape: The Hogwarts Years A Bri...

**Chapter 14 – Severus Snape the Formative Years – A Brief Interlude 1**

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Author's Note: Okay, this originally didn't belong here, but I found a serious problem with the next chapter, that could only be overcome by adding a little of Severus' history as a student. This is the first instalment, and there will be others scattered throughout the story as necessary. I was having problems integrating Severus' dreams, which are important, with the story, without making things too obvious or clumsy. I don't know if this works or not, you will have to tell me. 

You will see why I had to put this here, even though it broke up the pattern of the chapters, when I post the next chapter, which will be at the end of next week, I hope. Part of it will cover what happened after he spoke with Dumbledore the night Sirius led him to danger. Sirius is not my favourite character. I can't forgive him for what he did to my darling Snape. That probably shows.

Unfortunately, after that, I will be facing a major problem. It is called strictly limited internet access, and I don't know if I will be able to post until the end of April. I will try to, but I can't promise anything. The good part is that I will try and get some chapters done while I am away. Last time I managed to finish my first story, Snape's Saviour. I don't promise that this will be finished though, I am only about a third of the way through, perhaps less now that I am adding Severus' student years to the mix.

Anyway, that is enough rambling from me. Thanks for your reviews everyone. As always, please read, enjoy, and review. Please review. I need to know what you think of the change in direction. If it is clumsy or seems contrived, please let me know. If you have any suggestions on how to integrate pieces of a puzzle from different time frames, drop me a review or a private email. I have been struggling with this for weeks, that is why updates have been a bit slow.

****

*

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Severus Snape was 11 years old. And he had never been happy. Like most pureblood wizards, his parent's marriage was one of convenience, but Severus didn't understand whose convenience it had been for. His mother, once bright and beautiful, he had seen photographs after all, had been selected to donate her genes to the Snape gene pool, cess pool he thought. He wished she hadn't bothered.

A lifetime of abuse from his father had been sending his mother slowly insane, and Severus realised it would only be a matter of time before he suffered the same fate if he didn't do something about it. The only problem was he couldn't figure out what. He wanted to save his mother and himself from the animal that his father was, but he couldn't just kill him could he? That would be bad, and Severus was never bad, at least he wasn't as bad as his father seemed to enjoy punishing him for being.

Soon, though, he would be free. He was 11, and it was September – that meant that Severus was escaping to Hogwarts. At Hogwarts, he would be safe; at Hogwarts he would be happy; at Hogwarts he would do well, and make his father proud. Perhaps that would curb the man's violence against the woman he had taken as wife, but Severus doubted it. His father would never be happy, and he seemed to enjoy spreading his unhappiness around.

Severus Snape was 11 years old and going to Hogwarts. He thought that would make him happy, but if he knew the truth he would have thrown himself in front of the shining Hogwarts Express, not into it. Severus Snape was only 11. He had never been happy. He never would be.

*

Severus looked at the bright, shinning red train. Hogwarts Express was emblazoned on its side in gold. He had waited for this moment his whole life. He was going to Hogwarts. Just the simple thought of escaping home brought a thin smile to his lips. It was an unusual sensation for the sombre boy.

A dark haired boy, with a heavy trunk far more substantial than his own, bumped into him in a rush to get on board. "Sorry," he mumbled, not stopping to see who he had collided with.

Severus watched the retreating figure, sizing him up. Pure blood, strongly built, handsome, rich, arrogant… Black. That was Sirius Black. Somewhere, on his mother's side he thought, he was related to that boy. Maybe he would be his first friend. Grabbing his trunk, not needing to say good-bye to his parents, because he knew they were already gone, he rushed after the boy, in the hope of gaining something he had never had.

He managed to keep his eye on the boy, as he climbed into the train, even amongst the sea of new, excited faces, Sirius Black stood out. He watched, as the boy's form turned into a compartment, and stopped when he reached it. Looking inside, there were four boys, and they seemed to know each other already. Severus knew no one, and he stood, looking anxiously into the compartment.

A dark haired boy with glasses noticed him watching, and nudged Sirius with his elbow. "Did you bring a pet?"

"James! Don't be cruel." The blonde haired boy sitting across from them admonished. He turned his attention to Severus and smiled, but Severus was too scared to return the gesture.

Sirius looked at the weedy boy, sizing him up. He was sickly looking, pale skin, dark eyes without pupils, and greasy dark hair that hung limply to his shoulders. "If you are asking if he is my familiar, you have to be kidding." Sirius sniggered. "Well, what do you want?"

Severus felt a knot of panic rising in his stomach. This wasn't going well. He didn't really know why he expected it would. "I, I was wondering…" He motioned to the seat.

"You want to sit here?"

Severus nodded.

"With us?"

"Yes," he managed to choke out.

"Well, you can't. This compartment is already full. Go away and find someone more your own style." The four boys made a show of stretching out so that there was no spare room on the seats.

Severus felt tears burning in his eyes, but he wouldn't let them fall. Blinking quickly, he picked up his trunk. "Sorry," he managed, as he turned away and sought refuge further down the train.

*

Severus sighed. The time he had spent at Black's compartment had meant that there were no empty compartments left. Every compartment he had passed had three or four children in it already and they all seemed to look at him with the same disgust as Black and his friends had. Suddenly the idea of going to Hogwarts didn't seem to be so good.

He dragged his trunk into the last carriage, hoping to find somewhere to sit, even if it was on the floor. It no longer mattered. Like the rest of the train, the first three compartments were full, well full enough that his presence was unwanted.

Looking into the last compartment, there were two girls, one sitting on each side. Neither paid him any attention as they sat talking quietly. Severus watched them, wondering how everyone had already made friends so quickly, and feeling like a failure because he hadn't. They were wearing muggle clothes, but he didn't care, because most wizards and witches did when they were passing through muggle London, however, as he listened to them, his ears picked up on something. Their words were strange, they seemed far more excited than anyone else about going to Hogwarts. He considered this for a moment, then he realised why. They were Mudbloods! 

He was about to turn and leave, when one of the girls looked out the window, and jumped when she saw his reflection. Both girls turned and looked at him. One had blue eyes, the other had green, but both had red-brown hair, and both were smiling. "Hello! I am Taryn, this is Lily. Would you like to join us? The train is really full isn't it?" Her voice was like music, and her blue eyes shone with happiness.

Snape looked at Taryn, and then at Lily. He desperately wanted to sit, he desperately wanted to be part of a group, but they were Mudbloods, and girls. His father would never forgive him if he found out, and Severus knew he would find out, somehow. "I don't associate with Mudbloods, thank you."

"What did you say?" An angry voice snarled behind him.

Severus froze. While he had been watching the girls, Sirius Black and his three friends had managed to creep up beside him. Now they were towering over him, and not looking particularly happy. He swallowed.

"Apologise."

Severus opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He watched the two girls, because he was too scared to look at the four boys. The green eyed girl, Lily seemed quite upset. She turned away when she saw him watching her. Taryn didn't turn away. She watched him with clear blue eyes that seemed to look into his soul.

"I said apologise." Sirius ordered, his voice threatening.

"Don't." Everyone looked at the girl. "Leave him alone. It doesn't matter, we _are_ Mudbloods." She shrugged. "I hope he learns better manners, but don't scare him."

"What?" Sirius looked at her, confused.

"Don't scare him. He looks terrified. Just leave him alone. If he doesn't want to sit here that's fine."

Sirius shrugged. "Fine." He turned his attention to Severus. "It's your lucky day. There was a girl to stick up for you!"

Severus was heart broken, but more than that, his pride, what little of it he had, was hurt. It was only his first day and he was already alone, and a girl had stuck up for him. Grabbing his trunk again, he ran off down the corridor. "I don't need girls to stick up for me." He yelled behind him.

*

Severus Snape moved to the Slytherin table, not that there was any surprise in that. His father, the same one who couldn't afford to buy him a new set of robes, had probably bribed the school to make sure he was placed in his old alma mater. He sighed, his fate was already sealed and he was only 11. Every evil wizard had come from Slytherin. That meant he was evil. He would rather have gone to Ravenclaw, because that would have meant he was smart.

He watched, with little interest, as the sorting continued, until he heard the name Taryn. Daydreaming, he had missed her surname, but it didn't matter. She was a Mudblood, and it wasn't like he would have anything to do with her anyway. She would probably go to Hufflepuff. Hard work was all Mudbloods were good for.

The small, brown haired girl with the clear blue eyes moved forward fearlessly. It was an interesting change. The thought she might be sorted to Gryffindor crossed his mind. Most students moved towards their sorting with trepidation. Perhaps, Severus thought, she would be interesting after all.

The whole hall waited as the sorting hat was placed on her head. She was the last of the first years, the last to be sorted, but the hat didn't utter a word. The sounds of shuffling feet, and whispers began to fill the hall, as restless, hungry students waited. The hat remained silent. 

Professor McGonagall, the stern looking, grey haired witch moved towards the girl and was about to touch the hat, when it seemed to sigh. "Oh, well, if it can't be helped, then I guess you must. Slytherin!"

The hall remained silent; a Mudblood had been sorted to Slytherin. Salazar Slytherin himself would be turning in his grave. The girl stood and Professor McGonagall removed the sorting hat. Moving towards the Slytherin table, she was stopped by the Bloody Barron. "A Mudblood in Slytherin? Impossible! Dumbledore – fix this fiasco!"

Professor Dumbledore stood, and cleared his throat, almost as surprised at the turn of events as every one else was. "I am sorry Barron, but you know the rules. The founders brought the Sorting Hat into being to ensure that each student has been correctly placed. There is nothing I can do I am afraid."

The Baron glared at him, and then at the girl, who seemed to pay him little heed. "Fine, then I will take it up with Salazar himself then." With a pop, the ghost disappeared.

"You do that." 

Severus watched as Taryn moved towards the table, and with a sinking feeling, he realised that the only spare space was beside him. His father would have a fit. She moved to the space with little fuss and sat down. She smelled of orange blossom. "Well, you already know who I am. You are Severus Snape aren't you?"

Snape ignored her.

"Glad to see your parents taught you such good manners."

Snape's face grew red.

"How about we be friends?" Snape turned and opened his mouth to decline the offer, but she got in first. "Oh, that's right, you don't _do_ Mudbloods." She watched him. "You know something, I don't care much either way, but Lily does. I may be a Mudblood, but I am also a Slytherin, so if you call her a Mudblood ever again, I will hex you into seventh year."

Snape sneered, "I'd like to see that Mudblood." 

 "Fine choice of words." She smiled. "Shall we duel then?"

Snape snorted, she didn't stand a chance, not with his skills. Maybe he could try a dark curse? "I wouldn't want to hurt you." In the back of his mind, the question of how she even knew about wizard duels plagued him.

"That won't happen." She answered calmly.

"I guess we will see then, won't we?"

"Another fine choice of words. When?"

"As soon as possible, then you will have to shut your Mudblood mouth and stop bothering me."

"How about here and now?" She challenged, annoyed.

"Idiot! How about somewhere quiet, sometime else? Do you want to get us both expelled?"

"Not really."

"So you do have a brain then. How about the first free period we get?"

"Fine. Find a place and I will be there."

Dumbledore had completed his whole welcome speech as they had argued, and further argument was interrupted by the sudden arrival of copious amounts of food. Severus and Taryn both filled their plates and began to eat in silence, trying to avoid any sort of contact with the other, as the Great Hall filled with the noise of nearly 300 students all trying to be heard at once.


	15. The Snape's Bite

**Chapter 15 – The Snape's Bite **

****

Author's Note: This is definitely the last chapter before I disappear for a few weeks. Hope you like it. Sorry about all the narrative at the start, but I am trying to stretch myself because I need to learn some different things. I really hope you don't find it boring.

In answer to some questions…  Samhaincat: I really appreciate that you are taking the time to read and review. You will see the duel, and you might find out why Severus hooked up with Lucius. I nearly showed that in the last chapter, but it would have been too convoluted.

Snapefan51: Yes, I can tell you belong to the "I hate Sirius Black fan club" He earned a little respect from me for dying in book 5, but I will never forgive him for nearly killing Severus. I don't doubt that he may be related, after all, there was a section of the Black family tree that was missing, and it couldn't be the Riddles… he was not a pureblood. So I just figured it might be Snape. Snape has found a friend, but it won't be easy for them. You see a little more of it in this chapter. Severus' dream was the reason why there hasn't been an update in ages, except for yesterday. I had a terrible time trying to figure out how to write it.

I haven't read over this, so forgive mistakes. Do you guys think Severus' dream fits with the last chapter? Should I have tried to do this differently? I need to know.

I appreciate everyone who is hanging in here with me. Please read, enjoy, review.

*

Snape walked gingerly through the forest, but at least he was walking this time. He wondered at the change, slightly surprised, but still grateful that his punishment by the Dark Lord had been a little less enthusiastic than the last time. He secretly suspected that Voldemort may have had suspicions about his loyalty – there was nothing concrete though – after all, loyal Death Eaters often suffered when their Master was angry, regardless of the reason. No, Snape reflected, things were not as bad as he had feared after his last call. The violence that had nearly ended his life was deserved in his dark master's eyes, as a result of his failure to provide the information desired. This time his injuries were little more than a case of tough love.

Reaching the edge of the forest, and seeing the sun rising in the east, Snape sighed. Another night of lost sleep, another dawn. Snape hated dawn – the birth of a new day held so much promise, so much hope, yet he knew only too well, that in his life, such promise would never be fulfilled, and hope would always remain elusive. He had given up the right to hope the night he had taken the dark mark. It was fading quickly again now, now he was free, temporarily at least, from the man he had sold his soul to for little more than a momentary feeling of power. There was now only a barely perceptible tingle of awareness, and he knew, by the time he reached Hogwarts, that hat too would be gone.

At least the students were absent; at least the school was almost empty, devoid of souls. He looked up at the castle, as it waited patiently for its halls to fill with the sounds of excited children's laughter. Laughter and excitement were things he had never shared. Only a handful of staff were in residence, and the likelihood of running across one of them so early in the morning was, thankfully, small. Only when he had reached the privacy of his chambers would he allow himself the luxury of rest, and then, only for the briefest of times.

Snape trudged wearily, body aching, exhausted _again_, towards Hogwarts, and wondered how much longer he could continue to serve two masters successfully. He feared that when the time came, the punishment he would face for his betrayal would come so swiftly, that he would never even see it coming, and be so absolute, that the universe herself would question whether he had even existed at all.

*

Irina moved to the window for what seemed like the hundredth time that hour, peering into the lightening darkness of dawn. Her feeling of despondency, a feeling that had remained with her since the previous evening, abated when she noticed a small, dark figure trudging slowly towards the castle. She controlled the urge to run to him, knowing that would only lead to further unpleasantness between them. 

Irina had been worried when he had left, and more worried when he had not returned, regardless of the tingling in her forearm that signified his continued existence. She was thankful that the charm she had placed on him was strong enough to survive whatever it was that he faced at the hands of his tormentor but it hadn't eased her fear in the slightest. 

Questions had plagued her all night. What if he had been badly injured again, and was lying somewhere dying? That had been Irina's first fear. Others came later, as the night dragged on. What if he didn't return at all? She shivered in the coldness and drew her cloak more tightly around her, calmly watching as he emerged from the forest like an apparition, the tingling in her arm fading as he drew slowly closer – he was back, and she could relax. He may have been injured, but at least he was alive. She could deal with the rest as it became necessary.

Irina picked up her wands before moving quickly from her chambers. If Severus Snape thought he would escape to the privacy of his chambers unmolested, he was sadly mistaken - she wanted to catch him and see if he needed her help, _before_ he made it there, because she didn't think it would be wise to attack the lion when he was in his lair.

* 

Snape was passing the Great Hall, glad to be almost to the staircase to the dungeons. He was nearly home, and about to breathe a well deserved sigh of relief, when a voice from the shadows threw him into turmoil.

"Severus."

Damn! Why is it that she always turns up at the most inopportune moments? He turned and glared at the pale witch, watching him calmly. "What?" He snapped.

"I was wondering how it went."

"How do you think it went? I arrived, he played with us using a new trick, I enjoyed a private audience with him so he could beat me and he sent me away. How do you think it went? He was particularly pleased when he found out that _you_ had touched his mark. _His_ mark, not mine, not yours, but his. Thank you so much for the punishment that caused."

Irina paled and regarded the tense man before her. There was a cut on his lip that had bled, badly; the trail of sickly dried red blood had stained the side of his face and the neck of his shirt. "He hit you."

"Really woman, you are so observant. I can't believe it sometimes."

"Did he use Cruciatus on you too?"

"Of course not, why on earth would he do that?" He asked sarcastically.

"Please, Severus, I am only trying to help. I can heal that cut and any other wounds you might have, if you will let me."

Snape turned and glared at her. "I don't want your help, now leave me alone. I have a considerable amount of work to catch up on tomorrow, well, later today. So, if you don't mind I wish to retire. I would like to get a little rest, if possible, before the day begins." Snape started to walk away, his normally threatening posture gone, replaced by weariness.

"Severus, wait, I finished the preparation of your ingredients. I did not think it was fair that you should have to return to face a full day of work again."

Snape stopped mid stride, and swung around, anger flaring in his dark eyes. His words were cold and quiet. "Did you ever stop to consider the fact that I might find it restful to prepare ingredients, that it might be helpful after a meeting for me to have something to do to ease my mind?"

Irina felt ill. "Severus, I am sorry, I never thought…"

"No, clearly you didn't. Perhaps you will next time, and perhaps you will get it into that thick skull of yours that I don't want your help. Goodnight. "

"Severus, I won't allow you to speak to me like that." Irina warned, anger rising, lack of sleep not helping her endeavours to remain calm.

"Good, then leave me alone woman." He turned and stalked off.

Irina was left standing, alone, in the dark hall, trying to control the desire to hex him to oblivion. She failed, but he was already gone, so she breathed deeply, and waited for the anger to ebb.

*

Snape sat wearily, and looked at the neat piles of ingredients she had left. They were correctly prepared and labelled – at least she had done a good job. He sighed. He really did need to learn to control his anger sometimes. Dumbledore was right – he could hardly afford to start a war with the Tsarina of Russia. That would just take more energy than he had. He sighed, looking at her work. At least she _would_ be able to replace him when the time came.

Standing, he moved through his office to his private chambers, and looked, longingly at the bed. He knew perfectly well that sleep would elude him after his meeting with Voldemort. It always did. It was not really a surprise that he was such a surly bastard. _She_ could help him, of course, she had given him a night of dreamless sleep before, but he knew he would never ask. He couldn't. Before he could ask he would have to apologise, and he couldn't do that either – he didn't have it in him.

He considered a sleeping draught but discarded the idea; he had enough problems with chemicals building up in his body, without adding further to them. Of course, if he did he wouldn't have to worry any further… Snape froze – death suddenly seemed like freedom. He choked back the disgust he felt at that thought and sat heavily by the fire, taking up a potions journal he had been reading before things had begun to fall apart.

The warmth of the room, the comfortable chair, the lack of sleep and exhaustion all drew him towards sleep. When he found his mind wandering, unable to concentrate, and his eyelids drooping heavily he stood, reluctantly, and moved to his bed. Removing his robes, and placing them on the floor for the House Elves to remove and clean, he fell, almost gratefully between the crisp white sheets. Closing his eyes, he wondered just what would invade his unconscious mind this time.

*

Cold. It was so cold, that it all Snape was capable of registering, as he stared, unseeing at the stars gently mocking him. It was ironic how the darkness that he had always counted on for safety, was to be his undoing – well, not the darkness exactly, but the damn moon that was, even now, shining down, uncaring, lighting the world with an eerie silver-blue glow. He shivered, not entirely sure if it was due to the coldness of the night air or the coldness of his dying body. It would all be over soon, though, and no one would care. Even _he_ hated himself sometimes, so why shouldn't everyone else?

"I knew you would be here."

Snape turned, startled by the quiet words. It was one of the Mudbloods, the only question being which one and he would find out soon enough, even in the half darkness of the moonlit night.  Damn her, for disturbing a perfectly good death. 

"Have you considered that I may not want to be found Mudblood?" Snape's voice was as cold as the night sky. It was strange how nights always seem to be clear and cold on the full moon. "Leave me alone."

He didn't look at her, hoping, instead, that his words would do the trick and drive her away, but seemingly ignorant of his desires, she carried on regardless.

"Severus," she admonished gently, "surely we are past that first year childishness. Please, stop acting as though you can do this alone. Just for once, accept help and kindness. Things will be much better for you if you do." 

Her words are gentle, but Snape can hear the hurt in them. Taryn. Lily would have fled from him already for calling her that, but then Taryn always had been the more tolerant of the two. He hadn't called either girl a Mudblood for a while, and his sudden use of the term had hurt her more than he intended. It didn't matter though, he just wanted to be left alone to die in peace, and his concealment charm was beginning to slip. If he didn't get rid of her soon, she would know the truth and his chance of escape might be lost. He knew, perfectly well, that she would try to save him.

"I don't want your help, or kindness Mudblood," Taryn winced, "I want to be left alone. I know perfectly well that you won't leave me until you are satisfied, so what do you want?"

Ploughing on, Taryn continued to ignore Snape's cruelty, as best she could, even though he knew it hurt her more than he wanted. Of course, she knew him better than he knew himself, which meant she knew there was a reason for his sudden cruelty. It didn't take long for Snape to realise how trapped he was. What hope did he have for freedom?

"I came to see if you are all right."

Snape turned and looked at her, seeing the hurt in her eyes. Remorse welled up and he let his defences down for once – he simply didn't have the energy to do more. Regarding her with the most earnest and vulnerable expression, he spoke quietly. "Of course I am, why shouldn't I be?"

Taryn looked at him, and then lowered her eyes. "What happened with Professor Dumbledore?"

Her words, so full of concern, pierced Snape's heart further and pain flowed in. She may have been able to save him once, but now nothing would save him. "Nothing happened. Please leave, I am fine, I just want to be alone for a while. I will be fine; I always am. What choice do I have?" 

It was a rhetorical question, he didn't expect an answer, and she didn't give one. Instead, she looked at him sadly, and repeated her question, knowing only too well his answer was an attempt to avoid it. "What happened with Professor Dumbledore?" She probed gently.

Snape turned back to her, he didn't want her there, but somewhere, deep inside, he was desperate for someone to understand. He barely had the energy left to fight against the desire to be comforted. Surely it wasn't too much to ask for in the last minutes of his life? If it had been forthcoming earlier, perhaps things would have been different. She had always been a thorn in his side, pushing, testing, always there questioning, perhaps they had been friends, perhaps they had been more, but they were both stubborn, and, whatever they were, it had always been difficult.

Snape's defences dropped quickly, and spoke quietly with a voice that already carried the hollowness of death. "He told me to tell no one what happened. It was, after all, merely a childish prank. It was unimportant, I am unimportant… that is what he meant. And again, the Marauders have escaped punishment. He was correct, of course, I am unimportant. Even my parents bear little regard for me, so why should he?" A trembling he couldn't seem to control became annoying, and he stepped further from her. "So, as always, I have promised to say nothing, but you already know, so I haven't actually broken _that_ promise have I?" He watched her closely, looking for affirmation, although it hardly mattered now.

"Of course you haven't broken it. You never break promises Severus. But you are important. You are important to me." Taryn reached out, to touch his arm in support.

Snape was too weak to pull away again, but he stiffened as her fingers contacted his wounds. They were the first things that he had ever had to call his own. He tried to ignore the strange look of worry she gave him. It didn't take long for her delicate fingers to discover his secret. He knew she could feel the blood.

"Severus, you are bleeding."

"Yes." He barely breathed the word, but there was no point in lying, she had already guessed the truth.

Taryn pulled her wand from her robes. "Lumos."

They were surrounded by light, and Taryn gasped as she discovered the seriousness of Snape's injuries. He was standing in a pool of blood. He looked down too, to find the concealment charm had failed. He no longer had the energy or the power to maintain it. He was also surprised by the amount of blood on his robes and on the ground at his feet. He was vaguely surprised that he was still able to stand, and not at all alarmed when he found he couldn't.

Falling to his knees unsteadily, Snape's body shook, and his breaths came in short, nearly useless gasps. He could tell Taryn was frightened, she wasn't the only one.

"Severus! Hold on, I will get Madam Pomfrey!" 

"No," he managed to croak. "Can't. Promised not to tell. Too hard to explain." He realised it was only half true as he said the words. The real truth was that he didn't want her to leave. He didn't want to die alone. Snape felt like a failure, too weak even to die with dignity. Even Taryn's Mudblood arms, would be more comfort than he deserved.

She dropped to her knees beside him, worried, and took him in her arms. He could feel her warmth, but it was little comfort.

"Leave me to die in peace Mudblood. It is for the best." Snape realised he was torn between wanting her to stay and wanting her to go, and he was embarrassed by his weakness.

"No. I won't give up on you. Let me try and heal you."

Snape snorted at the suggestion. It was ludicrous that she would think that she had any power over his impeding death – only a healer, or the nurse could save him now. He looked up and saw the sincerity in her eyes, then, reluctantly, and almost imperceptibly, he nodded. "If you must… I really don't see the point."

"No Severus, not must, wish. I wish to help you. I choose to help you. Because I am your friend," she choked out.

"Fine… do as you wish. It is already too late anyway."

"I don't believe that, I can't." Working quickly, Taryn undid the sleeve of Snape's robe and moved it upwards, before he even had a chance to comment again. Kneeling in front of him, she kept her wand floating beside her to illuminate her work with a quick Wingardium Leviosa. She gasped when she saw the extent of the wound that the Werewolf had caused. Poor Severus… poor Remus, she thought.

With two free hands, she took his right hand gently, and drew it towards her. Capturing his eyes, not letting him look away, she reached to his elbow where the gashes made by the Werewolf's claws started, glad that they weren't bite wounds. "This will probably hurt."

Snape nodded, his eyes still fixed on hers, unable to look away from their blue clarity. "Yes," his voice was so soft that it was almost lost in the night.

Placing her free hand on the bloody gash, she watched as he winced, and grew paler, but he didn't utter a sound of protest. Taryn only hoped that it would work. She had never tried to heal anything like this before. This was serious enough to kill, and she had only a little knowledge, gleaned from books, to rely on. Having the power wasn't necessarily going to be enough.

Snape watched as her lips began to move and she drew her hand slowly towards his wrist. He couldn't focus though; a mist seemed to overwhelm him. All he was truly aware of was the pain, and her gentle touch. As her hand moved downwards towards his, blackness seemed to move into his eyes. Starting first at the periphery, it moved inwards until he could barely see. He was almost euphoric at the thought that his life was almost over – soon he would be free of torment. He never saw the look of worry that clouded Taryn's eyes.

"Hold onto me Severus." Her words seemed to come to him down a tunnel, and he fell sideways, unable to stay upright any longer. Vaguely, from the mist, he could tell that his arm no longer hurt. It didn't matter; the other injury was going to kill him anyway. He didn't have the energy to be surprised that she had healed his arm, but he knew there was no way she could heal the bloody gashes on his chest and abdomen.

Snape felt himself being rolled gently on to his back. Fingers moved dextrously, undoing the small buttons that ran the length of his shirt. He was vaguely aware of the small cry of alarm Taryn couldn't contain when she saw his chest, and the damage done there. It was the first moment of uncertainty he had ever witnessed from her, and it had been six years. 

Without the warning, she placed her hand at the base of his neck, at the start of the wounds. Again, he was vaguely aware of her chanting something he couldn't understand as she moved her hand downwards. 

Snape stiffened as she progressed, but he still didn't utter a sound. He was surprised when the darkness began to recede, and by the time her hand had reached the end of the wound, the darkness was almost completely gone, and he was left, shaking, panting and weak – way too weak. She may have stopped the bleeding, but she hadn't saved his life, it was too late for that.

He had no strength to fight her when she pulled him into her arms. "You aren't unloved, or unlovable Severus Snape," she whispered softly into his hair as her fingers gently caressed the damaged flesh of his torso until it was completely healed and the pain was gone. He felt himself drifting back to the safety of the darkness, but she whispered some charm he didn't recognise, and instead of the peace of death, he fell quietly to the peace of sleep.

*

The dream ended, quickly followed by his sleep. Snape laid, terrorised, breath coming in gasps, almost as painful as those of that night. He ran his fingers along the white scars that were the only physical sign of how close he had come to death that night, and felt burning remorse that he had missed out on the opportunity.

Snape rose, and moved to the window. Standing in the moonlight, grateful for the protection that the semi-darkness provided, he knew that even the darkest night was only just capable of hiding him and his crimes from the world. He thought back, bitterly to that night a lifetime ago that had sealed his fate. Why was he having this dream now? Why was he having any dreams?

*

A night without sleep and an argument really wasn't the way Irina had planned to start her day. Walking, wearily, to the Great Hall for breakfast, she wondered if Snape would bee there, secretly hoping he wouldn't. The last thing she needed right at that moment was the opportunity to rehash the argument they had had earlier, or was it later – she really didn't have the energy to decide, and she really didn't care. Every time they seemed to make a little progress, something would undo it, and it was beginning to wear down her patience. Not really paying attention, she turned a corner and almost collided with Remus.

"You look as bad as I feel." He offered quietly, by way of greeting. "Did you have trouble with Snape again?" Remus had been furious when he had heard that Snape had struck the gentle woman, and fury wasn't an emotion he was used to.

Irina sighed, wondering if it was her place to speak of what had happened, but she really needed an ally, and Remus was as close as it came, regardless of the fact that he needed her as much as Snape did, and he had his own problems with the bad tempered Potions Master. Remus looked at her kindly, and she melted, her exhaustion wearing her down. "He was called."

"Oh." Remus knew what that meant – Snape was always capricious on his return from the Dark Lord, he had seen him at Order meetings. "I am sorry."

Irina nodded. "So am I." She straightened and looked at Remus more closely, something he said, spiking her interest. He was pale and breathing deeply, as though trying to maintain control. She frowned, and laid her hand on his arm. "Remus, are you all right?" She could feel his muscles trembling slightly. "You are not still in pain from the transformation are you?" 

Leaning, heavily, against the wall, he nodded wearily. "Yes. It doesn't leave me, not now. It hasn't for a while."

"Not at all?" Irina's voice was tinged with concern.

"No." He answered quietly.

Irina looked at him worried. "Remus…"

"I know." The quietly spoken man admitted. "I know. It has been months."

"When were you inflicted?"

"When I was 5."

"You have suffered for about 30 years then?"

"Yes, nearly 31."

"And you have used Wolfsbane for the last 10?"

"Yes."

"Remus…" There was sadness in her voice.

Remus realised she knew. "Don't. Don't say it. We both know it, so please, let's not say it."

Irina nodded. "As you wish."

A strangled sob broke from Remus. "I'm not ready. I always thought…" His words trailed off, and his body shook. 

Irina moved towards him, but he pulled away. She was more insistent, and she took him in her arms until the sobs subsided. "I understand." She released him and moved away to give him some privacy to collect himself.

Straigtening, he turned, and moved towards her, a look of desperation on his face. He grabbed her arm. "You understand." His grip tightened. Irina could feel bruises forming. "I want you to promise me something."

Irina almost cried out at the look of pain he wore, and at the actual pain his grip was inflicting, but she remained calm. "I will promise if I can."

There was a mad look in Remus' eyes, something almost akin to the wolf he carried within him. Irina had seen something similar only once before. "I want you to promise me, that when the time comes, you won't let me die as the wolf. He has haunted me my whole life, he has darkened my existence. I don't want to die like that. Please don't let me die like that." Remus released her and his hands dropped to his sides. He pulled away, realising how hard he had been gripping her. "I'm sorry." 

"Oh, Remus…" Irina's voice caught in her throat, and she moved to him. "It is all right. I understand, and will do what I can." She reached up and stroked his hair gently. "I promise."

Remus nodded, unable to speak. Her promise would be enough.


	16. Grimauld Place

**Chapter ****16 – Grimauld Place**

Author's Note: Hi Everyone, or anyone… I am really sorry about the delay in getting this posted. It is even worse that I am still not actually happy with this, but I would prefer to post than wait, because I just don't see when I will get a chance to do more on this… at least not for the next month. Uni has been a night mare since I got back from my placement, and I have barely recovered.

Hope you can forgive me. I am almost too scared to read this.

Next chapter, and yes, I have been working on it a little, will see everyone return to Hogwarts.

Please read and review.

* * *

"Eat up Harry, there is plenty more where that came from."

Harry looked at Mrs Weasley and nodded. "Thanks. I'm not very hungry that's all."

"You're a growing boy Harry and you need to keep your strength up."

"It's okay, I really aren't very hungry." He pushed his plate away. "Sorry, I can't do this." Harry stood suddenly and ran from the kitchen. Mrs Weasley, Ron, Hermione and Ginny all looked at each other as they listened to him run up the stairs and slam the door to his room, the portrait of Sirius' grandmother cackling something obnoxious at him as he passed.

Harry threw himself on the bed and struggled against the tears that threatened to flow. They had been at Grimwauld Place for a little over a week, and still it wasn't any easier to be there without him. Every room held some reminder of their all too brief time together there. Every room reminded him of something he would never have again. He had known it would be hard, in fact, he hadn't wanted to be there at all, not really, but his Aunt had encouraged him to go. Harry thought about her because it was easier than thinking about Sirius.

Aunt Petunia had been changed by that night in the kitchen. After Ron and Hermione had left, before Uncle Vernon and Dudley had returned, she had sat down with him and told him what she could about each of the pictures from the box. She had been withdrawn after Vernon and Dudley had returned, and things were almost as bad as they had been before, but Harry was sustained by the occasional times when they would be alone together – it seemed that Smeltings had a lot of Father and Son activities – and she would sit him down and speak to him about what she knew. It was really very little, but Harry understood how much it cost her to speak of her childhood and the sister she could barely acknowledge. Uncle Vernon hated everything about his condition, and that went for his wife's sister too. He was quickly realising that his Aunt had paid a high price for the life she now led.

Things had been uncomfortable for the following week, before an owl had arrived, inviting him to join the Weasley's for the last two weeks of holidays. It was the first time he had ever considered saying no. Spending time in Sirius' house without Sirius was the last thing he wanted.

Staying at 4 Privet Drive would have been much better, than coming here to be reminded of what he had lost. At least he was used to _that_ type of emotional torment; at least there was something there to take his mind of Sirius. Here, at his Godfather's old home, there was nothing but memories for him. They were pleasant, but all too brief, and Harry was sick and tired of making out that he was doing okay. He wasn't, and he never would be. Even seeing Snape on occasion hadn't made him feel worse than he already did. It hardly mattered who was to blame anymore. Nothing would bring his Godfather back.

The worst thing was that no one seemed to understand. Last year, after the Triwizard tournament, after Cedric had died because of him, after everything that had happened, and after Voldemort had returned, he had been left deserted, by everyone. It wasn't until the night of the Dementor attack, when Dudley had almost been killed, and him too, not that he cared, that he had been finally given his freedom from Privet Drive, only to find out that his friends had already been at Grimwauld Place with Sirius. He still felt betrayed and angry at that, and his Godfather's absence didn't make it easier.

"It's okay to be upset Harry, but you shouldn't blame your friends."

"I don't blame them."

Remus moved across the room. "How are you doing?"

Harry rolled over and looked at him. "Terrible. How about you?" Remus looked dreadful, and it wasn't even close to a full moon.

"How do you think?"

"Honestly?" Remus nodded. "How would I know?" Remus stiffened. "You spent 10 years thinking he was a traitor and murderer. I guess it isn't that hard to forget a friend you had already turned away from once."

"Harry…"

"What?" Harry looked at Remus, eyes burning with resentment. "Don't say it will get easier." He stood up and moved towards the last person that had any connection to his parents. "At least you knew. It seemed everyone knew, everyone always knows, but I am always left in the dark. Well, this time you can all go to hell. I don't care what Voldemort does any more, and I don't want friends, so you might as well leave now, because if you don't, the only thing I can promise is that hanging around with me will kill you."

"I'm not so sure about that Harry."

Remus' soft, sad words threw Harry, and his anger disappeared like an exhaled breath. Looking at the man, pain etched with weariness in equal measures on his prematurely aged face, Harry finally broke. "I miss him," he cried, throwing himself at Remus.

Remus closed his arms around the distraught boy. "I know. I really do, and it will never be okay, but you must learn to live with it or it will consume you."

Harry nodded, shoulders shaking. When the tears subsided he pulled away. "I am serious. I don't want friends. They just seem to get killed. What happens if you get killed, or Ron, or Hermione? Do I have to lose everyone I care for? What if that isn't enough? What if_ He _decides to attack the Dursleys? What if I can't stop him and everyone dies?"

"Shhh, Harry, Professor Dumbledore will never let that happen."

"He let Sirius die."

"Harry, we both know that isn't true."

"Isn't it? If he had just told me about Occlumency, if he had just explained… I would have tried harder and maybe…"

"Harry, Professor Dumbledore had his own problems to deal with last year. He did the best he could to keep you safe and protected. Professor Snape-."

"Don't. Don't talk to me about Snape. He is as much to blame as Dumbledore. If he had just acknowledged that he understood, when I told him Padfoot was in danger, then I wouldn't have gone to save Sirius."

"Wouldn't you?"

Harry looked up, and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He wasn't sure he knew the answer to that question.

"You can't blame Professor Snape, Harry. He did his best too. The first thing he did when he left Umbridge's office was contact the Headmaster. Did you really expect him to acknowledge what you had said? He is a spy Harry, and a very good one who has been in far more dangerous situations, so he did what every good spy would do, he withdrew from danger before making any type of response."

"So it is my fault."

"No. It was Sirius', and mine. I should have tired harder to stop him."

"What do you mean?"

Remus sighed. "We all made mistakes that night Harry, none more than others. And we all have to live with the consequences." Remus' voice was tight. "I could have stopped him, but there was so much going on, so many secrets that needed to be kept, that most of those that played a part in the events of that evening were more confused than anything else. Between the trouble that Umbridge caused, and that which Voldemort caused, we didn't have a chance. I tried to stop Sirius from leaving, but he knew you were in danger and his foolish Gryffindor courage got him killed. I just couldn't stop him, not without hexing him."

"Then you should have hexed him."

"Should I? How could I? All he wanted to do was make sure you would be safe. How could anyone stop him? You know what he was like, Harry – he risked everything to come to you, and to tell us the truth about Peter. He risked a Dementor's kiss to keep you safe from a _rat_ Harry. Do you really think I could have stopped him from going to the Ministry that night, when he knew you were in so much more danger?"

Harry shook his head, finally defeated. "No."

"Exactly."

They were silent for a few minutes, neither man, nor boy, daring to speak, as each battled their daemons in their own way.

"Does it really get easier?"

"Yes Harry, it really does, but it doesn't happen over night. It took me years to get over the loss of your parents, particularly when I thought Sirius was responsible. It was like my heart was torn out. Not only had I lost my best friends, but also I had to live with the thought that one had betrayed the others. I nearly died every night for months, haunted by dreams of what happened, or what I though had happened. I relived every moment from the time you were born, every moment Harry, when I thought I could have changed something, anything, and they would have been alive… If I had just been their secret keeper instead of Sirius… of course, I couldn't be… As the werewolf I was too vulnerable. If only I had been there, but of course, it happened on a full moon, so I couldn't. There are so many if only's… You know, I was there the day they died. Only Sirius and I knew their true location. The Aurors that were charged with protecting them had no idea who they were. I wondered for years whether I was followed… That was a more logical explanation than the truth, that Sirius had betrayed them. Of course neither of us were directly at fault, in the end. It was Peter all along. We never knew."

"You were there? That night? But you said it was a full moon."

"I was there in the afternoon, I was younger and transformations weren't as bad then. I had something to deliver, something for T-" Remus stopped.

"Something for who?" Harry looked up, interested.

"Something for Tonks." Remus continued. "She was a friend of Lily's, and Lily had promised to forward it to her."

"Tonks knew my parents?"

"Of course. She was a couple of years younger than us, but she had certain skills that… well, let's just say she fitted in with Lily and her friends, quite well."

"Being a polymagus?"

Remus looked at Harry, wondering how much he knew, he had to tread carefully, particularly while Harry was like this... the last thing he needed was to know more was being kept from him. Remus considered his two main options quickly and decided to take the easy route – he hated lying to Harry, but telling the entire truth would only hurt him more, and he didn't think he could take more without cracking.

"Yes. She found out in her first year that your father and Sirius were practicing animagi, although I don't know how she found out, maybe it is something she could see in them, I don't know. As you know it isn't legal unless a wizard or witch is registered, and she asked me why I didn't do something about it, after all, I was the Gryffindor prefect. I knew we could all end up in trouble if she told anyone, so I explained everything to her."

Harry looked at Remus. "Everything?"

"That I was a Werewolf, yes. I figured that if we were going to get into trouble, we might as well all get kicked out. That was what the Marauders were like."

Harry nodded, it was what it was like, or had been like, between him and Ron and Hermione too. "What happened?"

"She looked at me… I saw it in her eyes; I knew she was going to tell. Then she did something I will never forgive her for, and never forget. She transformed into a wolf. I nearly died. Then James and Sirius turned up, and saw me there with the wolf… they were going to hex it, but I stopped them, and she transformed back." Remus chuckled. "You should have seen the look on their faces when they realised a first year could do something they had been working on for 3 years."

Harry turned away; he didn't want to think about seeing their faces… He didn't want to think about anything like that. It hurt too much. "I hate it." His voice broke from him in a painful sob.

"I know Harry, I know."

Harry swung back around again. "No! No, you don't, no one does, and I am sick of people saying they do. How can you? You had family, you had _them_. I have nothing except Ron and Hermione, and the way things are going, one or both of them will be dead before the end of the year, and the worst thing is I don't care. I don't care about the world. There is nothing here for me, so why should I want to save it? Why should I have to pay the price for something I don't want or care about?"

Remus looked like he had been slapped, but he stood his ground. He at least knew what was going on, he had been privy to meetings and discussions that Harry knew nothing of, and probably never would. He watched the boy, face set in stone, anger burning in his eyes, and knew he had done all he could. He needed time to come to terms with all he had lost, and no amount of kindness would change that. He nodded, "I am sorry, Harry. I know it is too soon, but please remember I will be there for you when you need me."

"Get out. Just get out."

Remus bowed his head and moved back to the door. Harry watched. It was almost as if the man had been broken, and he felt remorse for his harsh dismissal. "Remus…" he started, but the door was closed and he was alone.

Harry sighed. He knew he had been unduly harsh on Remus, and he didn't deserve it. He had only been trying to help. Worse than that though was the nagging feeling at the back of Harry's mind – there was something in the way Remus looked, something different, something wrong. Suddenly he had a horrible feeling that he might not see him again, and the thought that the last words he had said were in anger, just like the last he spoke to Sirius, frightened him.

Moving quickly to the door, he opened it, just in time to see Remus at the foot of the stairs, talking quietly with Mrs Weasley. "Remus…" he called down.

The tired looking man looked up at him. "Yes?"

Harry ran down the stairs. "I am sorry… sorry for saying all that… I know you are trying to help. Thanks for coming to see me, I really appreciate it." Harry stood awkwardly, hoping that Remus would know that he was truly sorry.

Remus smiled and nodded. "It's alright Harry. I do know how hard it is, because they were my friends too." He reached out to pat Harry on the shoulder and was surprised when he found the boy's arms around him.

"I miss them, but I am frightened of losing you. Please be careful."

Remus closed his arms around Harry and held the shaking boy. "I will. Don't worry."

Letting go, he pulled away and moved to the door. "Remus, will you come to see us again, before we go to Hogwarts?"

"I'm not sure that will be possible." Remus answered quietly.

Harry hung his head. "Oh."

"I have to go. I'm sorry." Remus opened the door. "I will see you in a week Harry."

Harry watched as the door closed. "But we will be back at Hogwarts by then."

"Haven't you heard Harry?" Hermione moved to his side, from the kitchen door. "He is back at Hogwarts teaching us again."

"What?"

"Remus is back teaching us again, and Moody, they are teaching us Defence, but even better than that is that real Wizarding Royalty is going to be teaching us too. Irina Ivanova, Tsarina of the Russian Wizarding Federation, is going to be there."

"Yeah," Ron joined in, "Fred and George looked her up on the Wizardnet, and she is supposed to be really hot."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron, for goodness sake, when did you turn into a raging hormone?"

Ron blushed, redder than his hair. "It was just what Fred and George said."

"And you had no problems telling the whole world." His mother added, clipping him gently behind the ear. "Sorry to disappoint you, but what the two troublemakers forgot to tell you is that she is married and has three children. So you can forget about her being hot and just remember that her husband commands the whole of Russia. Now, all of you, bed."

Mrs Weasley watched, smiling, as the three of them ran up stairs. At least they could still be children for a while, even if that while would not be a long one.


	17. Severus Snape: The Hogwarts Years 2

**Chapter 17: Severus Snape the Formative Years Part 2 – The Duel **

Authors Note: Okay, I don't know if anyone is even going to read this after so long, but I have finally had a chance to finish it and check it…. I apologise to anyone still waiting, for the extended delay, but working full time is more of a killer than I expected. I will try and get this story finished, in a more timely manner, because I still remember what I have planned, and I really feel guilty for leaving it hanging.

Clearly, this story was started BEFORE "Half Blood Prince" and as such, it no longer follows cannon. I am going to ignore that, because this is my story and I can (there is the ego trip out of the way!)

I hope you, if there is anyone still out there, can forgive me, almost as much as I hope JKR hasn't really condemned Snape to the burning fires of hell for betraying Dumbledore. Personally, I think there is more to it than she has shown us. I just hope I am right, and the Potions Master… ex-Potions Master, ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts Master finds his way back from the wilderness.

Frogfoot24.

* * *

The first days of Severus' new life at Hogwarts didn't exactly go as he had planned. He was clever enough in his classes, in fact he found most of the first year work to be quite easy, but the much longed for friendships never materialized. By the end of the first week, he wondered why he had ever wasted his energy expecting they would. Apart from one or two Slytherins that seemed to be at least willing to acknowledge his presence, probably because of his father's status in the wizarding world, few students seemed interested in talking to the greasy haired little boy with the second hand robes. Black and his group of friends, already as thick as thieves with half of the school, only made it worse – they seemed to particularly enjoy entertaining themselves at Severus' expense whenever the opportunity arose.

The only consolation, Severus could see, was that if things seemed hard for him, then they were even worse for the Mudblood witch. Taryn had no one in Slytherin that she could even call an acquaintance. If the Bloody Baron had been up in arms at her placement in his house, the students were even worse. Severus had noticed with a certain amount of satisfaction, that there wasn't a single student in Slytherin who would speak to her without a sound reason, and most of the times the sound reason was to torment her in some way. He, at least had some level of acceptance because of his family name, she didn't even have that

No mention was made of the duel. She seemed to avoid him as best she could, and Severus wondered if she had chickened out. It wouldn't have surprised him, she was only a Mudblood after all, and she had probably realised how foolish her challenge had been. It was quite a shock when she came up to him one day while he was reading an advanced potions text he had managed to liberate from the restricted section. He was lost in thought, considering carefully some more intriguing uses of polywort, when he felt a presence beside him.

"How did you get that without all the books howling?" Her voice was quiet, conspiratorial.

"Why? Planning on dobbing?" Severus hissed.

"No, just wondering."

"Well don't, it's none of your business." He snapped.

"You know, if you tried to be nice, perhaps you would have more friends." Taryn suggested mildy.

"Like you would know. I don't see you with a fan club."

"I don't need a fan club, I have Lily here, and I still have friends outside school. How many friends do you have?"

"Enough." He answered shortly, although the truth was quite different. "What do you want?"

"They're having Quidditch trials next Saturday morning, and everyone is going. It seems as though James Potter has remarkable flying skills," Taryn explained, "and they want him to try out."

Severus groaned inwardly, that was all he needed. At least the Mudblood had refrained from saying anything about his lack of flying skill. Even she had done better at their first flying lessons. She had managed to control her broom and move a little shakily across the Quidditch pitch. He on the other hand had been less than successful in controlling his broom. Every time he had tried to mount it, it had skittered off and away, leaving him humiliated in front of the combined Slytherin and Gryffindor group. "So?"

Taryn sighed. "I was thinking it would be a good chance for that duel I promised you."

Severus snorted. It sounded as though she was looking forward to dueling with him. That would change afterwards. He wondered if it would be worth trying an unforgivable on her, but then discarded the idea, she would just dob, and then he would be in big trouble. "Fine, where?"

"How about down near that old hut, outside the school buildings, the one near the Forbidden Forest?"

Severus nodded, "Alright, I will meet you there." He closed the book he had been reading, "Oh, and don't bother bringing any of your friends, I think it would be best to keep this just between the two of us."

"Right." Taryn nodded, then turned quickly and left the library.

* * *

Saturday morning dawned cold and clear. It was a beautiful day, although Severus hardly took the time to notice. He wasn't exactly nervous about the upcoming duel, but he wasn't exactly calm either. While he was pure-blood, and more than capable of handling himself against the Mudblood, the question that kept sneaking into the back of his head was just how did she know about wizards duels in the first place?

Quidditch trials seemed to hold everyone's attention, and the school was abuzz with talk about James Potter's remarkable skill. Thankfully, the duel barely rated a mention; although news of the duel had passed quickly through the school few students cared enough about either him or the Mudblood for it to be of much interest. Severus hadn't determined the best way to approach the duel, but he most certainly didn't want half of the school watching if he decided to try something that would get him into trouble.

Waiting for the auburn haired witch to arrive, Severus reflected on her more carefully. If she hadn't been a Mudblood, he would have almost considered making friends with her. Even with his open animosity, she was far more friendly to him that most of the other students in first year. While she wasn't exactly pleasant to him, she was far from unpleasant – instead, she seemed always to look at him sadly, as if she was more hurt for him than by him. Severus found that hard to understand, and wondered what life would be like as a Muggle child. Certainly life as a young wizard was less than pleasant… well, at least his was. He had almost decided not to wait for her, willing to let her have her moment of glory, thinking he had been too scared to turn up, when she emerged from Hogwarts, with a small grey-clad creature in tow. She seemed to bounce down the hill towards the cabin as though she had not a care in the world. That would soon change.

"So," Severus sneered, as she drew closer, "ready?"

"Of course," Taryn sneered back – it was the only way she could stop her lips from quivering with fear. Although the Quidditch trials had been the talking point of the week, a few students had warned Taryn against going through with the duel. Snape was known for his power, and his family had strong, but un-provable connections with dark magic abuse. Lily had been distraught when she had heard, but Taryn couldn't back down. She knew the snobbish brat would spend the next 7 years belittling her if she didn't stand up to him, and if she didn't do it today, she never would. "Are you?"

Severus ignored her, not entirely sure of the answer himself. He didn't doubt he would win, but he wasn't sure how far he could go without getting himself into trouble with the professors, and trouble with the professors would mean trouble at home. That was something he intended to avoid if it was at all possible. A brief pang of worry struck him as he thought about home. Would his mother be all right? Severus thrust the worry aside and contemplated Taryn. "I see you've bought a friend." He pointed to the small creature beside her, "What, are you planning on using house elves to fight your battles?"

Taryn looked as indignant as the small creature beside her. Snape noticed that the creature was wearing real clothes, rather than the rags house elves normally wore. "Eon's not a house elf, he's a Metrognome. He is a time-keeper, and I brought him along to adjudicate for us. You would know that if you spent more time studying "Fantastic Beasts", and less time studying the dark arts."

Snape looked more closely at the small creature, uncomfortable at being caught out by the Mudblood. She was right, damn her, he could see the markings now, small pale silver suns and golden moons were moving rhythmically across the creatures bluish skin. It was easy to miss them at first glance, but he cursed himself inwardly. He was pureblood; he should have noticed that without the Mudblood's prompting. Perhaps his father was right; perhaps he was a failure. "I don't need you to tell me what I should or shouldn't read."

"No, of course you don't. You can screw up your life perfectly well by yourself, can't you." Taryn answered quietly. "Look, I told Lily I would meet her at the trials, can we get on with this?"

"Whenever you feel ready. I wouldn't want to be ungracious. But after I am finished with you, Quidditch will probably be the last of your concerns."

Taryn snorted. "You're kidding right?"

Snape glared at her.

Taryn shrugged, and turned to the Metrognome. "Eon, you understand the rules?"

"Yes, Miss." The small creature answered in his squeaky voice. "You turn back to back. I count as you take steps. When I reach ten, you turn and begin."

"Excellent, yes."

"I will call a professor if you are hurt miss." He added, more quietly.

"Thank you." For the first time, Severus thought Taryn seemed a little less certain of herself.

"If you are both ready, please stand back to back."

Severus turned, forcing Taryn to move closer. He felt her behind him, her body warmth reaching him. It made him almost tingle, like when his mother held him. Thoughts of his mother brought a lump to his throat again, and he forced it down. The Mudblood was trembling slightly – perhaps she had realised her mistake.

"I want a clean fight," Eon squeaked, "No cheating will be allowed. On my count I wish you to step away from one another. After 10 steps I will say turn and you are to turn towards each other and send your first spells."

Severus was still in turmoil about what hex to use, when the Metrognome reached ten. Turning, he paused briefly making up his mind, and that was an expensive mistake. More sure of herself, Taryn was quick to speak. "Confundus Occularis!" She flicked her wand, and a brief flash of white arched towards him, hitting him squarely in the chest.

* * *

Taryn watched, surprised, as Severus paused briefly after turning. It was only a small pause, but it was enough for her to get her words out first, and she knew she would win. "Confundus Occularis!" She flicked her wand, and a white flash arched its way towards him, hitting him in the chest. Snape fell to his knees and Taryn had a horrible sinking feeling. To her right, Eon squeaked in surprise and apparated away with a pop.

Taryn couldn't believe she had beaten the arrogant boy, yet there he was on his knees, crying.

Crying wasn't something she was prepared for, Lily never cried when she used Confundus. She had chosen a harmless charm, but it had been more effective than she had intended. She wondered what he was seeing that was upsetting him so much.

"Severus?" Taryn moved closer, wand still out, incase his reaction was just a ruse to draw her closer. "Severus?" She repeated, quietly, beginning to worry as the boy's tears continued to flow. Alarmed by the effect of the spell, Taryn lifted it quickly; "Finite incantem," but Snape didn't stop crying.

Moving to him, Taryn knelt beside the weeping boy, all thoughts of victory gone, and put her arm around his shaking shoulders. "Severus, it's alright. I've ended the spell, it's over, it's all over. You are safe. It's okay." Snape's tears didn't stop, and Taryn grew more alarmed. Drawing him closer, she held him in both arms and stroked his hair. For someone who seemed so in control and cold, his sudden tears seemed out of character, and it scared Taryn, more than the thought of his anger.

Kneeling on the cold ground, Taryn continued to hold him while he was wracked by huge sobs. It seemed to take forever, but slowly they abated, and she felt the tension leave his body. She wondered what had him so scared. "Tell me what happened. What did you see?" She asked quietly.

Snape didn't pull away. He kept his head hung, the dark hair falling down and hiding his face. "None of your business." He mumbled.

"Please tell me."

Snape was about to speak, when a boy's voice floated down to them. "Hey, James, look, Snape's been crying."

Black. Taryn felt Snape stiffen again, and he pulled away.

"Oh, isn't that sweet, Snape's got a girlfriend."

Snape stood. "Shut up Black."

Taryn stood too, and moved forward, hoping to diffuse the situation. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "let me deal with this."

Snape turned back to her, the sneer he normally wore, back in place. "Don't bother apologising, and don't bother trying to help. I can deal with this by myself, thank you very much." Snape drew his wand, and held it threateningly.

Black looked at the Slytherin boy with contempt. "And just what are you planning on doing with that Snape?" He turned towards James, "You know, James, I think we have just found a name for the greasy git… I think we should call him Snivellus from now on, after all, he is clearly a cry baby."

* * *

By the end of the following week, after news of James Potter's Quidditch selection eased, every student knew about what had happened in the duel. Taryn's reputation grew in everyone's eyes. She had taken on a pureblood with dark intent, and beaten him at his own game. For Snape, things couldn't have been worse. If he had thought, or even hoped that the details of the duel would remain unknown, he was sadly disappointed. It took less than 5 days for most of the student body to know he had cried, and now, much to his disgust and embarrassment, most students used the new nickname Black had christened him with.

Only Taryn refrained from rubbing his nose in it. She seemed to look at him with a deep sympathy that made him squirm, and he found himself avoiding everyone whenever he could

"Hey, Lily!"

Lily turned then ran up to Taryn and embraced her in a hug. "I've missed you."

"Me too."

"I heard about the duel, you're both so lucky you didn't get caught. You could have been expelled."

"I know."

"Did you really make him cry?"

Taryn nodded. "I used Confundus on him and he collapsed in tears."

Lily looked at her sister incredulously. "And now everyone is calling him Snivellus."

"That's what I want to talk to you about. Do you think you can convince the rest of the Ravenclaws to stop?"

Lily thought about it for a moment, chewing on the end of her hair. "I guess so, why?"

"I don't know," Taryn sighed, "I've never seen Confundus do that before. You always end up happy. I just get the impression there is something bad going on with him, and I don't want to make it worse. I feel kind of responsible."

Lily laughed. "You are too soft."

"No, little sister, you are the soft one – clever too. I was sorted to Slytherin. Cunning and guile, my dear, remember?"

Lily's eyes filled with tears.

"Please don't, or I will cry too." Taryn squeaked, unable to control her voice.

"It isn't fair, I don't understand."

Taryn shook her head. "I don't either."

Lily looked away. "You know, even if I get them to stop, there will still be Hufflepuff and Griffindor to deal with. And Slytherin of course."

"That won't be too hard. I will just tell the Hufflepuffs that he hates being called Snape. They're dumb enough to believe it."

"That's not nice. Mum would be angry at you for that."

"I know, but it is true."

Lily giggled. "It is, rather."

"The Griffindors will all get bored with it and give up eventually, except for Potter and Black. They're such prats; and as for the Slytherins, well, they're all too scared to say too much. The name Snape might not mean too much to us, but it has most of the Slytherins wetting their pants, even if they don't like Severus. Malfoy got his goons under control, pretty much as soon as word got out. He was really angry with them for speaking outside the common room. It was too late, because by then everyone knew, and of course Black and Potter had been spreading the word, but they stopped pretty quickly."

"I can't believe he cried. What's the story do you reckon?"

Taryn shrugged. "I don't know, but it's like his mother never loved him or something. Surely his whole life can't be that wretched…"

"He is pretty mean and miserable."

"Yes, I know. He has that Mudblood thing happening, but I kind of get the impression that it is more a protective thing. If he hates everyone first, then he won't have to deal with them hating him. It's like he spent so much time without friends that he doesn't even know how to have them."

* * *

Flying lessons the following Friday were the final straw for Severus. He was hardly the strongest flyer in the class, and the sniggering and Snivellus taunts didn't help. Taryn, on the other hand, found flying relatively easy, and watched sympathetically as the dark haired boy struggled with his broom to the sounds of jeering from the other students.

Taryn felt almost as elated as he looked, when Snape finally managed to mount his broom successfully. Suddenly, he appeared to be a different boy. A shy smile graced his pale face, as he tentatively kicked off the ground and began flying. At first he moved slowly, his knuckles white as he gripped the broomstick, and Taryn held her breath, but as he rose steadily, he seemed to relax.

Snape was about 30 feet off the ground when disaster struck. As if he had suddenly realised what was happening, but more likely just to cause trouble, James Potter looked up, as if in awe, and called out to Black, more than loud enough for the rest of the class to hear. "Hey, Sirius, look, Snivellus has finally managed to fly."

Taryn glared at the boys. "Shut up James!" She spat, but it was too late. Snape's concentration was broken. In an instant, the well-behaved broom went from submissive to subversive, bucking all over the sky in an attempt to rid itself of its burden.

Everyone laughed at the display, everyone except Taryn. She was horrified, as she watched Snape grip the broomstick with all his might. Grabbing her own broom, she kicked off and attempted to follow Snape's erratic broom.

Down below, Professor Farencast was attempting to gain some sort of order. "Back inside, all of you!" He ordered above the noise of the heckling crowd. "Miss Evans! Land at once!" Taryn ignored Farencast, and continued to follow Snape's broom, which was zooming erratically through he sky and trying to shake him off.

She was beside him and about to reach out and grab him when the broom rolled upside down. They were about 100 feet above the ground, and for a moment Taryn thought it would be all right; but then she watched in horror as Snape's grip faltered, and he fell from the broom, landing in a heap on the ground. He didn't move.

Turning her broom, Taryn rushed to Snape's side, as Farencast finally gained control of the now silent students and sent them inside. Jumping from her broom, which obediently dropped to the ground, unlike Snape's, which was now intently tapping its unconscious master's shoulder, Taryn moved quickly to him. His robes were a tangled mess, his eyes were closed, there was blood coming from his mouth and ears, and his wrist was at a different angle to his arm.

None of that was what stopped her dead in her tracks though. What froze her to the spot was the scars on his pale legs. It was clear that his childhood hadn't been easy. Severus Snape had whip marks that ran up both legs, marks that probably didn't stop there. Quickly, before anyone else reached them, Taryn reached out and pulled Snape's robes down. Snape had enough to deal with without what she had seen becoming common knowledge.


	18. Severus Snape: Hogwarts Years 2 Repost

**Chapter 17: Severus Snape the Formative Years Part 2 – The Duel **

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* * *

**

_Okay, I have no idea what is going on with I know it has been a while, but my story didn't seem to update, so I have put this chapter up twice... I think_

Authors Note: Okay, I don't know if anyone is even going to read this after so long, but I have finally had a chance to finish it and check it…. I apologise to anyone still waiting, for the extended delay, but working full time is more of a killer than I expected. I will try and get this story finished, in a more timely manner, because I still remember what I have planned, and I really feel guilty for leaving it hanging.

Clearly, this story was started BEFORE "Half Blood Prince" and as such, it no longer follows cannon. I am going to ignore that, because this is my story and I can (there is the ego trip out of the way!)

I hope you, if there is anyone still out there, can forgive me, almost as much as I hope JKR hasn't really condemned Snape to the burning fires of hell for betraying Dumbledore. Personally, I think there is more to it than she has shown us. I just hope I am right, and the Potions Master… ex-Potions Master, ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts Master finds his way back from the wilderness.

Frogfoot24.

* * *

The first days of Severus' new life at Hogwarts didn't exactly go as he had planned. He was clever enough in his classes, in fact he found most of the first year work to be quite easy, but the much longed for friendships never materialized. By the end of the first week, he wondered why he had ever wasted his energy expecting they would. Apart from one or two Slytherins that seemed to be at least willing to acknowledge his presence, probably because of his father's status in the wizarding world, few students seemed interested in talking to the greasy haired little boy with the second hand robes. Black and his group of friends, already as thick as thieves with half of the school, only made it worse – they seemed to particularly enjoy entertaining themselves at Severus' expense whenever the opportunity arose. 

The only consolation, Severus could see, was that if things seemed hard for him, then they were even worse for the Mudblood witch. Taryn had no one in Slytherin that she could even call an acquaintance. If the Bloody Baron had been up in arms at her placement in his house, the students were even worse. Severus had noticed with a certain amount of satisfaction, that there wasn't a single student in Slytherin who would speak to her without a sound reason, and most of the times the sound reason was to torment her in some way. He, at least had some level of acceptance because of his family name, she didn't even have that

No mention was made of the duel. She seemed to avoid him as best she could, and Severus wondered if she had chickened out. It wouldn't have surprised him, she was only a Mudblood after all, and she had probably realised how foolish her challenge had been. It was quite a shock when she came up to him one day while he was reading an advanced potions text he had managed to liberate from the restricted section. He was lost in thought, considering carefully some more intriguing uses of polywort, when he felt a presence beside him.

"How did you get that without all the books howling?" Her voice was quiet, conspiratorial.

"Why? Planning on dobbing?" Severus hissed.

"No, just wondering."

"Well don't, it's none of your business." He snapped.

"You know, if you tried to be nice, perhaps you would have more friends." Taryn suggested mildy.

"Like you would know. I don't see you with a fan club."

"I don't need a fan club, I have Lily here, and I still have friends outside school. How many friends do you have?"

"Enough." He answered shortly, although the truth was quite different. "What do you want?"

"They're having Quidditch trials next Saturday morning, and everyone is going. It seems as though James Potter has remarkable flying skills," Taryn explained, "and they want him to try out."

Severus groaned inwardly, that was all he needed. At least the Mudblood had refrained from saying anything about his lack of flying skill. Even she had done better at their first flying lessons. She had managed to control her broom and move a little shakily across the Quidditch pitch. He on the other hand had been less than successful in controlling his broom. Every time he had tried to mount it, it had skittered off and away, leaving him humiliated in front of the combined Slytherin and Gryffindor group. "So?"

Taryn sighed. "I was thinking it would be a good chance for that duel I promised you."

Severus snorted. It sounded as though she was looking forward to dueling with him. That would change afterwards. He wondered if it would be worth trying an unforgivable on her, but then discarded the idea, she would just dob, and then he would be in big trouble. "Fine, where?"

"How about down near that old hut, outside the school buildings, the one near the Forbidden Forest?"

Severus nodded, "Alright, I will meet you there." He closed the book he had been reading, "Oh, and don't bother bringing any of your friends, I think it would be best to keep this just between the two of us."

"Right." Taryn nodded, then turned quickly and left the library.

* * *

Saturday morning dawned cold and clear. It was a beautiful day, although Severus hardly took the time to notice. He wasn't exactly nervous about the upcoming duel, but he wasn't exactly calm either. While he was pure-blood, and more than capable of handling himself against the Mudblood, the question that kept sneaking into the back of his head was just how did she know about wizards duels in the first place? 

Quidditch trials seemed to hold everyone's attention, and the school was abuzz with talk about James Potter's remarkable skill. Thankfully, the duel barely rated a mention; although news of the duel had passed quickly through the school few students cared enough about either him or the Mudblood for it to be of much interest. Severus hadn't determined the best way to approach the duel, but he most certainly didn't want half of the school watching if he decided to try something that would get him into trouble.

Waiting for the auburn haired witch to arrive, Severus reflected on her more carefully. If she hadn't been a Mudblood, he would have almost considered making friends with her. Even with his open animosity, she was far more friendly to him that most of the other students in first year. While she wasn't exactly pleasant to him, she was far from unpleasant – instead, she seemed always to look at him sadly, as if she was more hurt for him than by him. Severus found that hard to understand, and wondered what life would be like as a Muggle child. Certainly life as a young wizard was less than pleasant… well, at least his was. He had almost decided not to wait for her, willing to let her have her moment of glory, thinking he had been too scared to turn up, when she emerged from Hogwarts, with a small grey-clad creature in tow. She seemed to bounce down the hill towards the cabin as though she had not a care in the world. That would soon change.

"So," Severus sneered, as she drew closer, "ready?"

"Of course," Taryn sneered back – it was the only way she could stop her lips from quivering with fear. Although the Quidditch trials had been the talking point of the week, a few students had warned Taryn against going through with the duel. Snape was known for his power, and his family had strong, but un-provable connections with dark magic abuse. Lily had been distraught when she had heard, but Taryn couldn't back down. She knew the snobbish brat would spend the next 7 years belittling her if she didn't stand up to him, and if she didn't do it today, she never would. "Are you?"

Severus ignored her, not entirely sure of the answer himself. He didn't doubt he would win, but he wasn't sure how far he could go without getting himself into trouble with the professors, and trouble with the professors would mean trouble at home. That was something he intended to avoid if it was at all possible. A brief pang of worry struck him as he thought about home. Would his mother be all right? Severus thrust the worry aside and contemplated Taryn. "I see you've bought a friend." He pointed to the small creature beside her, "What, are you planning on using house elves to fight your battles?"

Taryn looked as indignant as the small creature beside her. Snape noticed that the creature was wearing real clothes, rather than the rags house elves normally wore. "Eon's not a house elf, he's a Metrognome. He is a time-keeper, and I brought him along to adjudicate for us. You would know that if you spent more time studying "Fantastic Beasts", and less time studying the dark arts."

Snape looked more closely at the small creature, uncomfortable at being caught out by the Mudblood. She was right, damn her, he could see the markings now, small pale silver suns and golden moons were moving rhythmically across the creatures bluish skin. It was easy to miss them at first glance, but he cursed himself inwardly. He was pureblood; he should have noticed that without the Mudblood's prompting. Perhaps his father was right; perhaps he was a failure. "I don't need you to tell me what I should or shouldn't read."

"No, of course you don't. You can screw up your life perfectly well by yourself, can't you." Taryn answered quietly. "Look, I told Lily I would meet her at the trials, can we get on with this?"

"Whenever you feel ready. I wouldn't want to be ungracious. But after I am finished with you, Quidditch will probably be the last of your concerns."

Taryn snorted. "You're kidding right?"

Snape glared at her.

Taryn shrugged, and turned to the Metrognome. "Eon, you understand the rules?"

"Yes, Miss." The small creature answered in his squeaky voice. "You turn back to back. I count as you take steps. When I reach ten, you turn and begin."

"Excellent, yes."

"I will call a professor if you are hurt miss." He added, more quietly.

"Thank you." For the first time, Severus thought Taryn seemed a little less certain of herself.

"If you are both ready, please stand back to back."

Severus turned, forcing Taryn to move closer. He felt her behind him, her body warmth reaching him. It made him almost tingle, like when his mother held him. Thoughts of his mother brought a lump to his throat again, and he forced it down. The Mudblood was trembling slightly – perhaps she had realised her mistake.

"I want a clean fight," Eon squeaked, "No cheating will be allowed. On my count I wish you to step away from one another. After 10 steps I will say turn and you are to turn towards each other and send your first spells."

Severus was still in turmoil about what hex to use, when the Metrognome reached ten. Turning, he paused briefly making up his mind, and that was an expensive mistake. More sure of herself, Taryn was quick to speak. "Confundus Occularis!" She flicked her wand, and a brief flash of white arched towards him, hitting him squarely in the chest.

* * *

Taryn watched, surprised, as Severus paused briefly after turning. It was only a small pause, but it was enough for her to get her words out first, and she knew she would win. "Confundus Occularis!" She flicked her wand, and a white flash arched its way towards him, hitting him in the chest. Snape fell to his knees and Taryn had a horrible sinking feeling. To her right, Eon squeaked in surprise and apparated away with a pop. 

Taryn couldn't believe she had beaten the arrogant boy, yet there he was on his knees, crying.

Crying wasn't something she was prepared for, Lily never cried when she used Confundus. She had chosen a harmless charm, but it had been more effective than she had intended. She wondered what he was seeing that was upsetting him so much.

"Severus?" Taryn moved closer, wand still out, incase his reaction was just a ruse to draw her closer. "Severus?" She repeated, quietly, beginning to worry as the boy's tears continued to flow. Alarmed by the effect of the spell, Taryn lifted it quickly; "Finite incantem," but Snape didn't stop crying.

Moving to him, Taryn knelt beside the weeping boy, all thoughts of victory gone, and put her arm around his shaking shoulders. "Severus, it's alright. I've ended the spell, it's over, it's all over. You are safe. It's okay." Snape's tears didn't stop, and Taryn grew more alarmed. Drawing him closer, she held him in both arms and stroked his hair. For someone who seemed so in control and cold, his sudden tears seemed out of character, and it scared Taryn, more than the thought of his anger.

Kneeling on the cold ground, Taryn continued to hold him while he was wracked by huge sobs. It seemed to take forever, but slowly they abated, and she felt the tension leave his body. She wondered what had him so scared. "Tell me what happened. What did you see?" She asked quietly.

Snape didn't pull away. He kept his head hung, the dark hair falling down and hiding his face. "None of your business." He mumbled.

"Please tell me."

Snape was about to speak, when a boy's voice floated down to them. "Hey, James, look, Snape's been crying."

Black. Taryn felt Snape stiffen again, and he pulled away.

"Oh, isn't that sweet, Snape's got a girlfriend."

Snape stood. "Shut up Black."

Taryn stood too, and moved forward, hoping to diffuse the situation. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "let me deal with this."

Snape turned back to her, the sneer he normally wore, back in place. "Don't bother apologising, and don't bother trying to help. I can deal with this by myself, thank you very much." Snape drew his wand, and held it threateningly.

Black looked at the Slytherin boy with contempt. "And just what are you planning on doing with that Snape?" He turned towards James, "You know, James, I think we have just found a name for the greasy git… I think we should call him Snivellus from now on, after all, he is clearly a cry baby."

* * *

By the end of the following week, after news of James Potter's Quidditch selection eased, every student knew about what had happened in the duel. Taryn's reputation grew in everyone's eyes. She had taken on a pureblood with dark intent, and beaten him at his own game. For Snape, things couldn't have been worse. If he had thought, or even hoped that the details of the duel would remain unknown, he was sadly disappointed. It took less than 5 days for most of the student body to know he had cried, and now, much to his disgust and embarrassment, most students used the new nickname Black had christened him with. 

Only Taryn refrained from rubbing his nose in it. She seemed to look at him with a deep sympathy that made him squirm, and he found himself avoiding everyone whenever he could

"Hey, Lily!"

Lily turned then ran up to Taryn and embraced her in a hug. "I've missed you."

"Me too."

"I heard about the duel, you're both so lucky you didn't get caught. You could have been expelled."

"I know."

"Did you really make him cry?"

Taryn nodded. "I used Confundus on him and he collapsed in tears."

Lily looked at her sister incredulously. "And now everyone is calling him Snivellus."

"That's what I want to talk to you about. Do you think you can convince the rest of the Ravenclaws to stop?"

Lily thought about it for a moment, chewing on the end of her hair. "I guess so, why?"

"I don't know," Taryn sighed, "I've never seen Confundus do that before. You always end up happy. I just get the impression there is something bad going on with him, and I don't want to make it worse. I feel kind of responsible."

Lily laughed. "You are too soft."

"No, little sister, you are the soft one – clever too. I was sorted to Slytherin. Cunning and guile, my dear, remember?"

Lily's eyes filled with tears.

"Please don't, or I will cry too." Taryn squeaked, unable to control her voice.

"It isn't fair, I don't understand."

Taryn shook her head. "I don't either."

Lily looked away. "You know, even if I get them to stop, there will still be Hufflepuff and Griffindor to deal with. And Slytherin of course."

"That won't be too hard. I will just tell the Hufflepuffs that he hates being called Snape. They're dumb enough to believe it."

"That's not nice. Mum would be angry at you for that."

"I know, but it is true."

Lily giggled. "It is, rather."

"The Griffindors will all get bored with it and give up eventually, except for Potter and Black. They're such prats; and as for the Slytherins, well, they're all too scared to say too much. The name Snape might not mean too much to us, but it has most of the Slytherins wetting their pants, even if they don't like Severus. Malfoy got his goons under control, pretty much as soon as word got out. He was really angry with them for speaking outside the common room. It was too late, because by then everyone knew, and of course Black and Potter had been spreading the word, but they stopped pretty quickly."

"I can't believe he cried. What's the story do you reckon?"

Taryn shrugged. "I don't know, but it's like his mother never loved him or something. Surely his whole life can't be that wretched…"

"He is pretty mean and miserable."

"Yes, I know. He has that Mudblood thing happening, but I kind of get the impression that it is more a protective thing. If he hates everyone first, then he won't have to deal with them hating him. It's like he spent so much time without friends that he doesn't even know how to have them."

* * *

Flying lessons the following Friday were the final straw for Severus. He was hardly the strongest flyer in the class, and the sniggering and Snivellus taunts didn't help. Taryn, on the other hand, found flying relatively easy, and watched sympathetically as the dark haired boy struggled with his broom to the sounds of jeering from the other students. 

Taryn felt almost as elated as he looked, when Snape finally managed to mount his broom successfully. Suddenly, he appeared to be a different boy. A shy smile graced his pale face, as he tentatively kicked off the ground and began flying. At first he moved slowly, his knuckles white as he gripped the broomstick, and Taryn held her breath, but as he rose steadily, he seemed to relax.

Snape was about 30 feet off the ground when disaster struck. As if he had suddenly realised what was happening, but more likely just to cause trouble, James Potter looked up, as if in awe, and called out to Black, more than loud enough for the rest of the class to hear. "Hey, Sirius, look, Snivellus has finally managed to fly."

Taryn glared at the boys. "Shut up James!" She spat, but it was too late. Snape's concentration was broken. In an instant, the well-behaved broom went from submissive to subversive, bucking all over the sky in an attempt to rid itself of its burden.

Everyone laughed at the display, everyone except Taryn. She was horrified, as she watched Snape grip the broomstick with all his might. Grabbing her own broom, she kicked off and attempted to follow Snape's erratic broom.

Down below, Professor Farencast was attempting to gain some sort of order. "Back inside, all of you!" He ordered above the noise of the heckling crowd. "Miss Evans! Land at once!" Taryn ignored Farencast, and continued to follow Snape's broom, which was zooming erratically through he sky and trying to shake him off.

She was beside him and about to reach out and grab him when the broom rolled upside down. They were about 100 feet above the ground, and for a moment Taryn thought it would be all right; but then she watched in horror as Snape's grip faltered, and he fell from the broom, landing in a heap on the ground. He didn't move.

Turning her broom, Taryn rushed to Snape's side, as Farencast finally gained control of the now silent students and sent them inside. Jumping from her broom, which obediently dropped to the ground, unlike Snape's, which was now intently tapping its unconscious master's shoulder, Taryn moved quickly to him. His robes were a tangled mess, his eyes were closed, there was blood coming from his mouth and ears, and his wrist was at a different angle to his arm.

None of that was what stopped her dead in her tracks though. What froze her to the spot was the scars on his pale legs. It was clear that his childhood hadn't been easy. Severus Snape had whip marks that ran up both legs, marks that probably didn't stop there. Quickly, before anyone else reached them, Taryn reached out and pulled Snape's robes down. Snape had enough to deal with without what she had seen becoming common knowledge.


	19. Severus Snape: The Hogwarts Years 3

Author's Note: Okay, I know it has been ages, and I know this is shorter than my other chapters, but I have decided to spent some time trying to finish this.

This does not follow canon since Half Blood Prince, and I have taken a few liberties with canon before that, but since this is my story I think I have that right.

Of course, I am not responsible for JKR's world or her characters, only what I do with them.

Please review if you take the time to read this. I will endevour to do more regular updates (perhaps even more than one per year).

* * *

Severus slowly regained consciousness. His whole body hurt. Form a moment his throat constricted. He was at home and his father had been angry. He was angry a lot. Severus panicked, opened his eyes and made to leap from the bed. It was only after he found himself almost cocooned amongst the comfortable coverings that he realised that the bed wasn't his bed. He was at Hogwarts.

The world spun and he fell back down, heart racing. Hogwarts. That was almost worse. It was only his third week yet everyone hated him. He had been beaten in a duel by the Mudblood; had earned a less than appealing nickname; and had somehow ended up in the hospital wing. He wasn't sure how he had ended up there, his memories of the previous day, or was it longer than that, he wondered, were only vague and hazy, but he remembered flying and being chased by the Mudblood.

"Ah, so you are awake I see. I must say you caused quite a stir with your antics. Between your aerobatic display, and young Miss Evans' screaming blue murder at everyone afterwards, I don't think poor professor Farencast will be in any fit state to teach for the next few days. I don't know what had that girl so upset, but she earned herself detention for a week. Mind you, that was suspended when she wouldn't leave your side."

Severus found his voice. "How long have I been here?"

"Three days child."

Three days! He sat up quickly. "What happened? I don't really remember much." He felt his body. Nothing seemed broken, but he was surprised to realise that he was still fully attired in his robes.

"You had a flying accident apparently, but the exact circumstances are a little hazy."

The door opened. "Here she is! Regular as clockwork. Good morning Miss Evans, I have some excellent news for you. The patient has finally woken.

Severus groaned. It seemed that he was to be haunted by the Mudblood witch.

"Good morning Madame Pomfrey. That's wonderful news!" Taryn said brightly.

Severus watched as the small girl moved towards his bed, smiling, as if visiting him was the most natural thing in the world. She pulled a chair closer and sat down.

"Well, I'll be off then. I have a meeting with the Headmaster. Take care of my patient please Miss Evans. He was enquiring about what exactly happened to him. Perhaps you would care to tell him while I am gone. You haven't been particularly forthcoming to anyone else."

The door closed and they were alone. Taryn was the first to speak. "I am glad you are awake. I was getting quite worried."

"I'm sure you were."

It wasn't the first time that Taryn wondered how Severus could be so self-depreciating, although her question had been partially answered when he she had arrived at his side after he had fallen from his broom. "Yes, I was, truly."

Severus looked at her and realised she was being sincere. He turned away, unable to face the look of concern she was wearing. "Thank you."

His world spun, and Severus fell back against the pillows, slightly breathless.

Taryn moved closer and took his hand. "Should I get the nurse?"

Severus realised how deeply concerned she was and he was surprised that it was almost comforting to him. "No, thank you. I will be fine momentarily." He closed his eyes and considered pulling his hand away from the Mudblood, after all he didn't want to catch germs, but he realised that having her touch his hand like that, concerned, was an almost pleasant sensation, so he allowed the contact to continue. "Tell me what happened, please."

Taryn could feel his pulse racing beneath her fingers. "Are you sure you are okay?"

"Yes. I have been hurt far worse." What had compelled him to say that? "Please, just tell me what happened. I can't really remember anything too well."

Taryn continued to watch him closely, but she nodded, hoping he would just relax and listen. "We were having flying lessons, and you were finding it a bit difficult. When you finally managed to fly you looked so happy."

She squeezed his hand, hoping he would stay calm when she told him the next bit. Black and his friends had a lot to answer for. "You were about 30 feet off the ground when Black and his friends started teasing you. Then without waring, your broom just took off like it was possessed."

"You were chasing me. Perhaps that was it." His tone was accusatory.

"I followed you. I was scared you would fall. I wanted to help you if I could."

"Really?" He sounded slightly surprised.

"Yes, really. Of course."

For Severus, it was a strange feeling having someone that was actually willing to say they were concerned for him. "I don't know what to say." He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, Taryn noticed there was the soft glow of moisture in them. "Thank you."

She smiled, trying not to wound him further. It was the second time she had made him cry, and she realised, painfully, how miserable his life must have been. "That's alright."

Severus relaxed for a few moments, staring at the ceiling as he gained control of his emotions. "There is something I don't understand. Why am I still in my robes?"

Taryn looked away, not wanting to see his reaction. She knew this would be painful for him and she had her suspicions it would be painful for her too. It had been three days since she had seen the scars on his legs, and she had spent a lot of time by his side wondering how anyone could do that to their child. His parent's must have been animals. She couldn't comprehend the cruelty that dwelled within people sometimes. When she finally spoke, her words were quiet. "I made them leave them on you."

Severus looked at her confused. "You made them leave me in my robes?"

"Yes."

"Why?" He blanched. She didn't need to answer that, he already knew.

Taryn turned back to him, but kept her eyes down, hiding behind her hair, not willing to face him directly when she said the next words. "I saw the scars." She admitted quietly. "When you fell, your robes came up."

It was Severus' turn to turn away. His eyes were suddenly fixed straight ahead and he stared into nothingness as Taryn's words flowed quietly over him.

"I was the first to reach you… I pulled them down… No one else saw… I made sure of that." She paused and watched the stricken boy. His body was trembling all over. "When they brought you here they tried to take them off you… I wouldn't let them… I told them no." That wasn't the precise truth. The real reason they hadn't managed to remove the robes, and the reason for her week of suspended detention, was that she had threatened to hex anyone who tried to remove them. She paused again, waiting to see how he reacted but there was still nothing from him. "So you stayed as you were…" Her words trailed off.

Severus breathed in deeply, laid back down and rolled onto his side. Taryn thought he was going to be sick but before she could stand and run for the nurse, she heard gentle sobs, so she reached out and touched him gently. "Shhh… No one can hurt you here, not like that. I won't let them."

"I don't need your protection." Severus' voice was small, almost drowned out by his sobs, but indignant.

"I didn't say you did, did I?"

He shook his head. "No, I guess not… I don't understand. Why do you care?"

Taryn shrugged. "I guess I feel as out of place here as you seem to be. Lily and I don't fit in, but we have each other to make things a bit better. You don't seem to have anyone, so I guess there is always room for one more. Besides, I am a Slytherin and with Lily in Ravenclaw, we hardly see one another. So I guess I am looking for a friend too."

Severus snorted at the thought. Friends. What did that mean? She might have been able to protect him here, although he doubted it, he really did, but if his father found out he had a Mudblood as a friend, as he most certainly would, there was no doubt in Severus' mind about that, nothing would protect him when he returned home. "Surely you don't think I want to be friends with a Mudblood like you?"

Taryn stiffened and jerked her hand away. "Fine. If that is the way you feel, I am sorry for bothering you. I'll just be going." She stood and the chair scaped across the floor. Moving away from the bed she stopped before she reached the door. "Just one more thing though, cut out that Mudblood thing. I find it offensive and it upsets Lily. If you keep using it you won't have to worry about not having any friends, you will have to worry about having lots of enemies, including one in your own house."

In that moment, the moment she had pulled away from him, Severus felt the most complete emptiness he had ever experienced and he wanted to cry more for the loss of that offered friendship than he had for anything else that had ever happened to him. He realised that he would pay for what he was about to do, but for the first time in his life he ignored what he thought his father would want, and decided to go with what he wanted more desperately than anything else. "Taryn, please wait. I'm sorry… I… I will try not to call you or Lily a Mudblood again. Please don't leave."

Taryn turned quickly and looked at Severus. He seemed sincere, but she wasn't sure she trusted him. "I don't know. I…"

"Please stay… I know I'm not doing a good job of this. I haven't had a lot of practice… Please stay."

Taryn looked at him sideways. He was pureblood, his hatred of non-pureblood witches and wizards would be so deeply ingrained that she wasn't sure she had the energy to fight against it, not long term. She shook her head. "No, I'm sorry Severus. Perhaps one day you might really be sorry, but right now you are just saying it." She turned and pushed the door open.

"My father hits me."

His words were quiet but they stopped Taryn in her tracks.

"He hits my mother too."

Taryn held her breath.

"The scars on my legs are only the beginning. I…"

Taryn closed the door.

Severus dropped his eyes.

"I am not that bad am I? I can't be can I?"

Severus felt the girl's arms close around him and he burst into tears again. Unable to truly comprehend the depth of her care, but willing to accept that she did care; for the moment and forever if he had the chance, he would accept whatever comfort she was willing to offer him, regardless of the cost.


	20. Ties that Bind

I have adjusted this to remove the less savoury part.

Let me know what you think.

* * *

**Ties that Bind**

"My Dear Wife,

Letting you go is the hardest thing I have ever had to do, not because I find it difficult to trust you will be faithful, but because your absence leaves such an emptiness in our lives that is almost impossible to bear the pain.

This note must, by necessity, be brief. Time seems to be rushing forward without hesitation here, as it must be for you. I can only hope that you will succeed quickly there and return to us. The void left by your absence pains us all.

Nikoli asked me to pass on his kindest regards. It would have made you laugh, the formality of the request. He had been in his studies with Uri, when he heard that I was writing to you. He marched in, like the little soldier he is – "Papa, I request that you send Mama my fondest regards."

The girls, as always, are devoted to you, as am I.

Take care and rest assured that you are dwelling in our hearts and minds,

Your loving Husband,

Alexi."

* * *

Irina looked at the parchment. Nothing alarming unless you read between the lines. Any passing stranger who intercepted the letter would imagine that they were simply temporarily separated from domestic bliss, but Irina knew better. Reading between the lines, Irina knew the truth – her absence was difficult for her family. 

Together, they were strong, greater than the sum of the parts, apart, they were less, and Irina worried that her departure may have tipped the balance of power in her country from the side of good to the side of evil. She had left her country, her people, her family, to fight for another country, other people and other people's families. She had chosen others to the detriment of those closest to her. And it made her weep.

Irina read and re-read the letter and her worries grew. Were the references to pain simply her husband's way of saying he missed her or were they references to something more? Had they been victims of the Great Bloody One already? Had the battle that seemed to be static here rushed onwards there upon her departure?

The cold hand of fear gripped her heart. What if there was only one battle left to win? How could she go on, knowing she had lost the people she loved so dearly and who loved her so dearly in return because she had been fighting a battle for and with a group of people who felt, in most cases, nothing but disdain for her and certainly no love? She wanted to flee the cold castle for the warmth of her home right then and there – the cost no longer mattered.

She looked forlornly out of the window and across the school grounds. The students had arrived and she was expected to attend the welcoming feast in the Great Hall, but she simply didn't have it in her. She would meet the students another day. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

Sitting, she pulled her legs up under her and held the letter to her chest. There had to be some way to find out if they were safe. Some way that didn't entail her breaking her commitment to the Headmaster.

The locket at her throat felt warm against her skin and she was struck by a sudden realisation that there was a way. An ancient spell, a drop of her blood, some moonstone powder and the sapphire wand could do it. They were the only things she needed to open the locket enough to communicate with them. She sighed, it would drain her, possibly more than was safe, but it would be well worth the effort.

Standing, she moved to her desk, unlocked the drawer and removed the small jar of shimmering powder that was hiding within. A moonstone, and a particularly strong one, resided within the jar, shedding itself and being reborn in counterpoint to the Lunar cycle. It would give her the power needed to control the tides, and many other things if it ever became necessary.

Removing the locket from around her neck, she placed it on the ebony board she used for preparing potions ingredients and watched as it glowed warmly at her. Removing her sapphire wand from its hiding place deep inside her robes, Irina placed it beside the locket and loosened the stopper of the jar containing the moonstone. The room was bathed in shimmering light as she poured a drop of the powder onto the glowing ruby locket. Just like a beating heart, Alexi had said when he had presented it to her. Glowing and filled with love for her just as his real heart was.

Although she had never asked him, Irina secretly believed that her husband had placed just a little of himself into that glowing ruby, and that made the locket even more special. Reaching out, she took her silver preparation dagger and pricked the skin of her finger, watching as a small drop of blood grew on her finger tip.

What she was about to do was very bad. It was against all the rules. It was obscenely powerful magic that would probably scare even Dumbledore, and it may even result in her being sent away if she even survived, but it would be more than worth it. Turning her finger over, she let the drop of blood fall onto the moonstone powder, then she picked up her wand.

* * *

Dumbledore watched as the returning students gathered in the Great Hall and sorted themselves into their houses to await the arrival of the first year students. It always amused him to see such youth and exuberance, two things that had departed from him a many years before. Scanning the room with his carefully trained eye, he picked out certain students, those that had had roles to play in the future, roles larger than any other, and certain students that would spurn the lessons he was trying to teach them, for a different way of life. 

Two boys held particular interest for him. Harry Potter, the dear boy who had taken on so much in such a short time, a boy who had trusted him implicitly to do what was right, was sitting with his friends. In earlier years the boy would have looked to him, smiled, perhaps even waved enthusiastically, in acknowledgement. This year he was resolutely ignoring the head table. It was evident that he still felt that he had been betrayed by those who had asked him to bear the burden of fighting for their freedom. He knew the death of his Godfather lay heavily on his shoulders, but war was war, whether the Ministry acknowledged it or not, and where there was war, there was invariably loss. That Sirius Black was one of the first victims of one of the first battles was unfortunate on many levels, but it was really of little consequence. Dumbledore knew only too well that there would be many more that would follow him beyond the veil before they defeated Voldemort.

Draco Malfoy was the other boy that held particular interest. Draco's father, always a egotistical boy, had grown to be an even more egotistical man, and for Lucius, having his son follow him into the Death Eater fold was simply the expected result of a lifetime of conditioning. Lucius had been seen in the Ministry of Magic on that fateful night. Loyal to the evil one that had offered him the chance of greater glory, Malfoy Senior held great sway in the Ministry, his old bloodline keeping alive connections that should rightly have been severed even now. Draco would need to be watched carefully for any signs of falling to the dark, and if the worst should happen the boy would have to be removed from Hogwarts before he could do the same type of damage his father had done.

Dumbledore looked to his Potions Master, the long suffering victim of peer group pressure. Certainly, if he had known the cost of his actions, Dumbledore was sure that Severus Snape would never have sworn himself to Voldemort's service. That foolish mistake had cost the dark haired boy the whole world, but the cost should equally have been shared by Dumbledore himself. Knowing now the full truth of his traumatic childhood, Dumbledore would never be able to forgive himself for ignoring the many signs that he had glimpsed that all was not well with the lonely young boy. He should have been able to protect the child better, he should have offered him sanctuary, a chance of happiness, a place of safety, yet Hogwarts had been a supreme torment for the boy. Only one had lightened the child's darkest days, and she had been lost long ago, in the first battle against the dark haired man's evil master. So many had been lost, and it was with a heavy heart that Dumbledore realised that so many of those before him would also be lost before the end came.

Dumbledore noticed there was an empty chair beside the dark haired man, and he wondered at the absence of the new Defence Professor. Things had not gone as smoothly as he had hoped between the two professors and he wondered if they had had another falling out. The Potions Master was never the easiest person in the world to deal with, but the increasing calls from his master made him even more testy, and Dumbledore knew that Professor Ivanova had probably had to deal with more than she had bargained for since her arrival.

Dumbledore stood slowly and moved to the Potions Master's side. Leaning down, he spoke quietly to the disinterested man. "Severus, I must ask you whether you have had any difficulties with Professor Ivanova that would have caused her to absent her self from us?"

"No Headmaster. I am afraid I have had no dealings at all today with our pale professor. Perhaps she had realised the magnitude of her mistake and had departed from the school."

"I most certainly hope that isn't the case Severus."

Snape didn't say anything, but secretly he almost had to agree with Dumbledore. Of the three Defence professors, the most revered Tsarina was by far preferable to the other two.

"Severus, may I ask you a favour?"

"Of course Headmaster, I am your devoted servant."

Dumbledore wasn't sure whether the dark haired man was being serious of sarcastic, and it didn't matter. "Severus, I would appreciate it if you would go to our colleagues' chambers and ask her if she would grace us with her presence."

"I would expect that the request would be more palatable if it was to come from one of the other professors. Perhaps Lupin or Moody would be more suitable."

"Perhaps they would be, but I have asked you Severus."

"Of that I am well aware headmaster, but I am sure you are capable of asking another."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at the Potions Master, the man was jousting with him, but he didn't have time for games, the first year students would be arriving any minute and the sorting would begin. "Severus, please."

Snape looked up at his new master, and nodded. "As you wish," he sighed.

* * *

Irina fell backwards, drained to a point beyond normal exhaustion, tears flowing down her cheeks in cascades. She had no energy left to wipe them away. Dropping the sapphire wand and the moonstone into the draw, she barely managed to push it closed and lock it. She wouldn't have the energy to use either again that night. She struggled to rise, thinking of the comfort her bed would bring, when she was startled by a knock on her door. "Tsarina, the Headmaster has asked me to escort you to the Great Hall." 

Snape. Irina hadn't bargained on that, and she didn't have the strength for a long drawn out battle of wills.

"Tsarina, please open this door. Your presence has been requested."

"It is not locked Professor Snape. Feel free to enter." It was the last thing Irina wanted but she was astute enough to know that she wouldn't be able to stop him. If the Headmaster had charged him with a task, the Potions Master would endeavour to fulfil that task at any cost.

Snape pushed the door open and stalked in. The last thing he wanted was to spend the night chaperoning the woman who had become the bane of his existence. The spy in him quickly surveyed her chambers; they were neat and well ordered, slightly feminine, but not overly luxurious considering her true position within the wizarding world. There was a cello in the corner and he wondered at her ownership of a Muggle instrument, and such a soulful one at that. Then his eyes fell upon the pale witch herself, and he gasped involuntarily.

"Tsarina, what has happened?" He asked, concerned, despite himself. She was slumped behind her desk, and even at a distance she appeared to be almost unconscious. There were tears streaming down her cheeks.

"It is nothing. Thank you for your concern Professor Snape. Please pass my apologies on to the Headmaster, but I do not believe I will be able to attend this evenings festivities." Her voice was weak, almost hollow.

"What has happened?" He moved quickly across the room and looked more closely at her. "What have you done?"

"Merely something that needed to be done."

"Don't be obtuse woman." His heart tightened as he realise that she was barely capable of breathing, let alone walking, and he was surprised to feel a pang of concern.

"The parchment…"

Snape picked up the parchment and quickly read the short letter. "I don't understand."

"I needed to see my family. I made it so, but it took a little more energy than I expected."

Snape's mind raced until it found the information he needed. "Gods woman, what compelled you to do something like that? How did you even achieve it?"

"Not easily…"

"But if you wanted to see your family, why didn't you just visit them? I am sure the Headmaster would have allowed you the opportunity."

"It is impossible. Borders are closed. International apparition is banned, and even if it wasn't my signature would alert Voldemort to my presence here and that would endanger everyone."

Snape didn't react to the witch's use of his master's name, but he spoke without thinking of the effect it would have. "He already knows."

He watched as Irina became paler if that was possible in her current state. Her next words were barely audible.

"Then all is lost already."

Snape had a sinking feeling that she may well have been right. "I am sorry. It is my fault he knows. There are certain things that I must do to live – at least until I have fulfilled my usefulness with the Order."

"I understand. Forgive me… for laying that burden upon you. I find it difficult to see things in a positive light sometimes."

"Like when you have almost drained yourself of life perhaps?"

"Perhaps…"

He knelt down beside her. "Irina, how can I help you?"

"I don't know that there is anything even you can do Professor Snape. I will simply live or die as the universe sees fit. As will we all."

"I find it difficult to believe that the universe would see fit to allow you to die."

Irina almost laughed. "I am not without my past sins Professor Snape."

"Perhaps not, but you are a healer, so even in your worst moments, your heart must be good, or that isn't a gift you would have been blessed with."

"I- I'm sorry… I can't…"

Snape was worried about the pale woman. For whatever the reason, Dumbledore thought she was important to their victory. He may have been right, he may have been wrong, some things weren't for Snape to know, but the simple fact that Dumbledore believed it was enough for him to be concerned about the woman's current condition. "Irina, let me help you as you helped me."

She smiled gently. "I doubt you can but thank you for offering."

Tentatively, almost as though his touch would break her, Snape reached out and with shaking fingers he wiped the tears from her cheeks. "You do realise, of course, that if you give up that which you most fear will come to pass? Your family will be left without you."

"What an encouraging thought…" She smiled at the thought of her family, but her words sounded like his own.

"Tell me about them."

"I am afraid you will have to discover that for yourself. I am sure the library will have sufficient information about us that you will be able to learn what you wish."

"No, I want to know about your family, not what the books say about the Tsar and Tsarina of the Russian Wizarding Federation. Explain to me about family bliss."

Irina knew just how much it had cost him to ask that, to speak of something he knew nothing about, but she simply wasn't able to respond. "I am sorry… please leave me in peace… I am sure you have duties elsewhere this evening."

"My most important one is here." He stood quickly, bent, and scooped the small woman into his arms.

"Severus…" She protested weakly.

It was the first time in over a week that she had dropped his much preferred form of reference, but he couldn't bring himself to berate the woman for her informality.

"Quiet. You need to rest and that chair isn't the appropriate place."

Placing her on the bed, Snape pulled a chair closer. "Tell me about the evil you face in your own country."

"I hardly think it appropriate. You live with nightmares enough of your own."

He almost smiled. "Consideration of my feelings… How unusual."

"You would perhaps be surprised."

"Tell me… Please." He added as an after thought. "You have left your family to come here, and I can't believe it is solely to assist me in my classes, nor do I believe it is to fill a gap in the Defence teaching for the year. What caused this foolishness, and why are you so worried about your family that you have only barely survived the desire to be with them?"

Irina nodded, knowing there was no way he would be put off. "Of my foolishness, I can not at this time speak of the reason. Why I am so worried about my family is because the evil we face makes your evil one appear to be a peaceful little lamb by comparison. His name is Peter Ilyich Alatyrtsev, most call him the Great Bloody One."

Snape's eyes were fixed on the pale woman. "I find that difficult to believe that there is anyone worse than Vold-." He stopped, suddenly, surprised that he was almost about to say his master's name aloud.

"Of course… you know only of the evil you have experienced under Voldemort. One of the greatest differences… perhaps the greatest difference is that the Great Bloody One does not limit his atrocities only to Muggles and Mudbloods. He is willing to kill both non-magical and magical folk to gain the power he desires. Death of course is mercy when it comes, but then I am sure you understand that."

Irina's body seemed to wilt and for a moment she gasped for breath. "He has followers, but they too are expendable. He feasts solely on the flesh of those magical creatures that have power which he wishes to posess."

Snape recoiled from the thought. "You are speaking figuratively, are you not?"

"I am not. Those of his followers who please him are chosen, some as sustenance, others to breed, regardless of a woman's desire to procreate. He believes the magic of a person that is devoured becomes his and adds to his power. I believe it simply detracts from his soul."

"So, you're saying that the fruits of…" Snape felt ill. She was correct, not even his own dark master had stooped to that level.

Irina closed her eyes and nodded. "Yes."

"And your family is leading the battle against that monster?"

"Yes, we are his primary target as we keep the country united. His goal is anarchy – it will make it that much easier for him to take power if there is no strong leader. My greatest fear is that I may be the one holding the balance of power. With my departure the scales may be tipped in his favour and my family may become vulnerable to him."

"I understand your concern." Snape nodded. While he seriously doubted that one single person could hold the balance in a battle against such evil, certainly the great Harry Potter had wholly failed to curtail his own master, Snape had seen the power of this woman and if her family was as important as she said, her concerns were valid.

"I have left my husband, my daughters and my son to battle alone…" She paused, breathless and weak. "I have lost those I love once before, Professor Snape, and I am not sure I shall be strong enough to survive the loosing again if the worst should come to pass." There were tears in her eyes and for a moment she seemed to flounder.

Snape realised she needed some hope to cling to. "Tsarina," he took her hand, "I pledge myself to you. When our battle here is done, I will follow you across the world and fight by your side to defeat him." He omitted the final part of the statement – If I am alive. It was the first commitment he had taken that wasn't simply a reaction to the foolish mistakes of his youth, and in that moment he felt almost free. Almost.

"Thank you Professor Snape. I am not entirely certain that will be possible, but your willingness to help is greatly appreciated." She closed her eyes again for a moment, then raised her hand slowly to her forehead. "You should return to the Great Hall you are the head of Slytherin. Your presence is expected. Please explain to Dumbledore that I am feeling unwell and am unable to attend, but do not tell him of the nature of my incapacitation."

"Are you sure you will be alright? Should I send for someone to come and stay with you?"

"I am sure thank you Professor Snape, as sure as we can be of anything during these worrying times."

Snape nodded and stood. His attendance as head of house _was_ necessary. "As you wish Tsarina." He moved towards the door.

"Thank you Professor Snape."


	21. First Lessons

Author's Note:

Okay, so perhaps there isn't anyone reading anymore. Was the last chapter too offputting?

The next chapter is half done, probably post on the weekend.

Please review if you are reading.

* * *

**First Lessons**

Snape watched as the feast rolled on, only half his mind on the antics of the excited students. The other half was fixed firmly on the woman lying in her chambers, without the energy to rise from her bed.

He was surprised to find himself so concerned for her well being. Of course, she had delivered him a certain amount of peace over the last weeks, and had, if she was to be believed, saved his life. That she had given up her own happiness and security to protect the wild horde before him was difficult for him to understand, but for that too, she deserved a little consideration. The fact that she had been there for him so often made him wonder if _he_ was the reason she had come to Hogwarts, and that only added to his burden of guilt – a burden of guilt he would carry as a manacle around his neck until the day he died. Not that that would be long.

He looked on in silence as children played. They held such potential, such promise and he knew few of them would ever amount to anything. Had he ever held such promise in his miserable life? He certainly didn't remember it if he had. So many had given up so much since those youthful days that it was almost a farce that he was still alive.

* * *

Irina leaned against the wall to recover, knowing she probably would have been better off staying in bed. She was in turmoil, torn between the rest she needed and the role she had to play. The Potions Master had seemed genuinely concerned, perhaps there was hope for him yet; perhaps it wasn't too late to redeem the surly, dark haired man.

She placed her hand against the door, not really sure if she was ready to face what lay beyond, but knowing also, that it wouldn't be any easier the next day.

* * *

"So, I wonder where she is?" Ron yelled above the din of his housemates.

Harry swallowed his pumpkin pie. "There's an empty seat between Remus and Snape."

"Yeah, and doesn't the Greasy Git look pissed about that."

"Ron! Watch your language." Hermione piped in. "You don't want to loose house points before we have even started classes, do you?" She looked at the empty chair too. "I hope nothing has happened to her."

"Oh, come on Hermione… What do you think could happen here?"

"Gee Ron, I don't know. Last year –," She stopped suddenly, not wanting to upset Harry. "I don't know. It just seems strange to me that she has come all this way just to assist Professor Snape."

"Maybe there's more to it."

"That's what I'm worried about."

The doors to the great hall shuddered then slowly swung open. Students stopped and turned, wondering at the interruption to the feast, then fell silent at the sight of the pale professor in the doorway. She seemed to glow against the dark background. The effect was magical and the students, as a group, gasped.

Dumbledore placed his goblet on the table and stood beaming. "Children, I would like to introduce you to a new professor for the year. My esteemed colleague will be teaching advanced Defence techniques and assisting Professor Snape with his potions classes. Professor Ivanova, please enter."

Irina seemed to hesitate, and Dumbledore realised surprised and a little worried that all was not well with the much revered Tsarina. He was doubly surprised when his Potions Master stood, without encouragement, strode quickly to the end of the hall and offered her his arm.

* * *

Snape watched, alert as the doors of the Great Hall opened. He was surprised to find the blonde Russian witch standing, framed in the doorway. The sight almost took his breath away and it was clear the effect was similar on most of the students. To his left, Dumbledore was standing, a smile of pleasure on his face, but Snape had seen the pale witch hesitate, and he doubted it was insecurity. Standing quickly, he moved down the long rows of tables to the woman's side.

"Tsarina, I am surprised to see you here, but I have the feeling that you aren't yet entirely healed." He whispered quietly. "Please allow me to escort you."

Irina dipped her head. "Thank you Professor Snape." She took his offered arm and they made their way slowly, almost regally, down the tables filled with gawking, and now silent, students.

As they passed Harry, Ron and Hermione, Harry leaned over to Ron. "Look, Snape's finally found a friend."

It was loud enough that the passing professors heard, and Snape stiffened. "Mr -."

"Potter," Irina continued, gently increasing pressure on Snape's arm, "I would appreciate it if you would have a little more respect for _Professor_ Snape." She emphasised the word, "And yes, I most certainly do consider myself to be Professor Snape's friend, as I am a friend of all the staff here. Hopefully I will also come to a similar relationship with many of the students."

Harry blushed. "I – I'm sorry Ma'am."

She smiled. "You are forgiven Mr Potter, during times such as these we must all learn to tolerate one another."

The two professors moved onwards. "Insufferable -."

"Quiet Professor Snape, we must all learn tolerance." She repeated, words gentle, not wishing to punish the tormented man any more than was necessary, knowing full well that friendship was one thing that Severus Snape had limited experience of.

As they reached the head table, Remus stood, smiling, and pulled the vacant chair out for the new arrival. Irina paused and then turned to Dumbledore. "Thank you Headmaster, for the opportunity of joining you. I look forward to fulfilling my duties to the utmost of my abilities."

Irina turned to the student body, still sitting, seemingly mesmerised at her appearance. "Please do not let me distract you from the task at hand. I look forward to meeting you all over the course of the next few days."

She released Snape's arm. "Thank you Professor Snape." Then turned to Remus. "Thank you Remus."

The students returned to their meals as Irina sat elegantly. Lupin and Moody returned to their discussion on the finer points of some advanced defence techniques. Dumbledore moved to her. "Tsarina, I was worried at your non-attendance."

"Yes, I must ask for your forgiveness. Professor Snape told me of your concern, but there was no need to worry. I must admit to a moment of nervousness on my part, nothing more."

"Quite alright My Dear." He patted Irina on the shoulder. "Quite alright, and already forgiven. After all, we must all learn tolerance must we not?" His eyes twinkled at her in amusement.

Returning to his place, Dumbledore sat down and gave his attention to desert. Only the Potions Master knew he was still watching Irina out the corner of his eye. For his part, there was nothing discreet in Snape's observation of the pale woman. He watched, as she picked briefly at the food in front of her, but she showed little interest in actually eating any of it. "Are you alright Tsarina?" He asked quietly.

"Perhaps not fully recovered Professor Snape."

She sat for a moment, watching the students before speaking. "Professor Snape, I must ask for your forgiveness too, for what I said earlier… when I spoke of all being lost at your former master's knowledge of my presence here… I am sorry if that inadvertently added to any guilt you may feel for your earlier choices. He would, of course, have known by the end of the week, even if you had not been forced to tell him by circumstances beyond your control."

"You have done nothing requiring forgiveness Tsarina. Any guilt I feel was mine before your arrival."

"If you are sure I haven't added to your burden…"

"My burden is my own, and entirely of my making Tsarina. Thank you for your concern."

She nodded. "Please, call me Irina, I am here only as a professor."

"I don't feel that would be appropriate."

"As you wish Professor Snape."

Irina and Snape continued to observe the activities in the hall, whilst those around them continued to enjoy the festivities. Dumbledore noticed that neither professor showed particular interest in the food in front of them. While his dark haired child rarely ate sufficiently to his mind, the new addition to the teaching staff normally ate adequately. This, combined with the fact that his Potions Master, who had until this point shown little enthusiasm for the Tsarina, now appeared to be particularly attentive, made Dumbledore curious about what they weren't telling him.

At that moment they appeared to be salt and pepper. Both in their looks and personalities, they were like those two condiments, utterly different, but completely complementary, and he wondered what had transpired between them earlier in the evening.

* * *

Snape sat in his empty classroom, wondering who would arrive first – his assistant or his students. The door opened and he looked up to see the grey clad witch entering quietly.

"Good morning Professor Snape." She offered cheerfully.

"Tsarina," he acknowledged. "Feeling better then?"

"Much improved. Thank you… for everything." She moved forward and took the seat she had been asked to use when observing him, prior to the arrival of the students.

"It won't be necessary for you to stay there any longer Tsarina, you are not a student. Feel free to move around as you like, but please refrain from disrupting my teaching."

"Thank you." She stood and moved towards his bookcases. They were filled with texts not strictly limited to the art of potion making. The dark haired man's interests were diverse.

"You do realise, of course, that your stated friendship with me will probably be the end of any chance you have of making a positive start with the students."

"They will come around, in time. As I said to Mr Potter, we must all learn to be more tolerant of one another. It is a lack of tolerance that has led to the darkness that dwells in the world at this moment." She turned from her study of the bookshelf contents. "Besides, I do not find the idea of your friendship such an appalling thing to contemplate, nor do I find the reality of that friendship intolerable."

He swung around knowing she was making fun of him, but there was no hint that she was mocking him, and he cocked his head to the side and contemplated his assistant with a look of confusion on his face. "Why is it that you always seem to accept me, even when I am less than acceptable to the world at large, even when I find myself barely tolerable? Apart from our first meeting, even in my worst moments, you seem to accept what I am without judgement."

"As I said last evening, when I am not entirely well, I find it difficult to be everything I should be. I had just healed you, and was at quite a low ebb myself. Seeing the mask under those circumstances caught me off guard. I am sorry for my reaction that day. Terribly sorry."

He looked at her with a smirk on his face. "You aren't the first to react that way, I can assure you, for a moment I actually thought you may have been different."

She nodded. "As for judging you… it is not my place to judge you, only to assist; let he who has not sinned cast the first stone. I am sure enough have judged you that you do not need another."

It was odd that she should choose a Muggle religious platitude to illustrate her point. "You are correct, many have judged me and many will continue to judge me – why should you be any different?"

Irina turned away and he barely heard her answer. "I have done certain things in my life that are less than palatable to me, some I feel are unforgivable. I most certainly shall never forgive myself. My crimes, however, fortunately or not as may be the case, are not well known, nor do they affect anything other than a small number of people, most of whom are long dead. For that reason alone, I am not ostracised for my crimes as you are for yours. I have hidden them deep in my past; you hold yours in your present for all those around you to see. I see it as being quite a brave thing on your part, although I doubt you see it that way."

Snape couldn't imagine the woman doing anything remotely unforgivable. "I don't suppose you would care to enlighten me on your crimes?"

"Not particularly Professor Snape, not particularly."

Her voice, he noticed, seemed to waver. He was about to speak when further conversation was curtailed by the arrival of the students.

"Mr Longbottom, I know you have a good understanding of herbology, so why would you be planning on adding the powder of the elephant plant next?"

Neville looked up. "Professor Snape said-."

"Did he? Are you sure? Think about the interactions between the boiling potion ingredients and that powder. You can do this. If I told you that what you thought Professor Snape said was wrong, when would you add that powder?"

"I…" Neville struggled to think, he knew this, he knew he knew this. He just had to find the information in his mind. It wasn't Snape watching him like a hawk just waiting for him to make a mistake; it was the quietly spoken Russian professor. He just had to calm down and think.

"When Neville?"

"After the nettle Ma'am."

"Precisely."

"But Professor Snape said -."

"Are you really sure? I do not believe Professor Snape would deliberately lie to you about a potion. I think perhaps, nervousness may have made you hear incorrectly. If Professor Snape makes you nervous, that is alright, you will just have to compensate for that with extra care and attention. Also, actually thinking about what you are trying to achieve, and the potion characteristics, may help." Irina paused for a moment. "Do you understand?"

Neville nodded. "Yes Ma'am, I think I do. Thank you." He turned to the cauldron, added his carefully ground nettle, gave three anticlockwise stirs and then added the powdered elephant plant.

The potion turned grey as was expected and Neville smiled slightly.

* * *

"They will walk all over you. You are too soft."

"Perhaps, Professor Snape, but if you are frightening the students so badly that they are unable to learn, I think you are being too hard."

"It is my class!" She had gone too far. Given what he went through when he wasn't teaching, teaching potions to disinterested idiots was not a pleasurable experience and it was one he could certainly do without. Unfortunately, it justified his position at Hogwarts, so it was part of his penance for the single childhood mistake that had cost him his life.

"I am well aware of that." She responded, more gently.

Irina realised her mistake, but it was too late to back peddle. While she may have been able to see beyond his anger and overreaction she knew he had no way to deal with those things. Snape's limited patience and almost unlimited self-control were more than strained when serving in his other role, and that affected his ability in this role.

While he may not have been called in the previous few days, the fact that he could be at any time and that when he was, he was expected to participate in any manner of activities he likely found to be personally distasteful, kept him on edge and unable to relax. If he used testiness to hide his anxious nervousness, who was she to question his teaching techniques? Who was anyone to question him? The only problem was that the students needed to be taught, deserved to be taught, and under his sullen glare even she would have found it difficult to learn.

"I will teach them as I see fit."

"Or not teach them? If that is the end result."

"I believe I told you not to interfere with my teaching woman. If you can't do that I will not allow you into my classes in the future."

Irina would forgive him many things, but she would not forgive his disrespect. His use of the term woman irritated her enough to make her bite back. "My understanding is that you have no say in the matter Professor Snape. Feel free to correct me if I am wrong."

Snape glared at the woman as she looked at him defiantly and in that moment he wanted to strike her, again, this time for her damned petulance. Both were saved as the doors slammed open and the first year students arrived for their first potions class.


End file.
